


Uitlander

by gotham_ruaidh



Series: Gotham's non-"Imagine" writings [6]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-03-23 09:18:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 35,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13784460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotham_ruaidh/pseuds/gotham_ruaidh
Summary: {{Uitlander, Afrikaans for "foreigner" (lit. "outlander")}} Claire Beauchamp arrives on the shore of the Cape Colony in December 1825, destined for what she believes will be a quiet life in a colonial backwater. Within hours she realizes that life in South Africa is anything but predictable.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/171162822896/uitlander)

**Prologue**

**Aboard _The Porpoise_**

**Friday, December 2, 1825**

* * *

 “Did ye see it, then?”

“Aye – Mister Pound claims he was the one who saw it first. A good sign, eh?”

“For him it is – not so for the rest of us.”

“Who cares, man? We’re here. Finally here. And it bloody _does_ look like a table!”

* * *

 Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, leaning against the damp railing, watching the sailors ready the rowboats.

“The seas are always this rough – or so Alex tells me.” At her elbow, Franklin Wolverton Randall – Frank – pulled absently at his neckcloth. “Currents, or some such. Due to the two oceans coming together, here at the Cape.”

“It will be a miracle if the poor thing isn’t dashed to pieces along the side of the ship.” Now two men gingerly lowered a rowboat, playing out the rope until the smaller craft hit the waves. Swiftly, skillfully two other men shimmied down the rope to anchor the boat with their weight. “At least we aren’t too far from the shore.”

“There is talk that the harbor will be artificially deepened, now that the Crown is sending more settlers down here. God knows those bloody Dutch never invested more in the infrastructure than they absolutely had to. Can you imagine – they ran the Cape Colony for a century and a half, and only in the past fifteen years we’ve established the first proper schools and built the first real roads?”

Now the sailors threw down bags of mail and parcels wrapped in heavy twine, landing neatly in the empty boat beside their comrades.

“I suppose the Dutch believed that they had better ways to spend their time and money. Uncle Lamb told me the VOC didn’t encourage immigration to their colonies – not even out to Batavia, in the East Indies. Not when the life can be so – remote. Difficult.”

“That it may be, Claire. But don’t be fooled – any Dutchman sent here wasn’t good enough to make it in Batavia. Just like any English soldier or government man stationed here has dreams of India, or Arabia.”

The boat finally filled, the four men – two to a side – hoisted the huge oars, and began rowing to shore. Watching the pitching and rolling of the small craft was enough to make Claire’s stomach churn – if it hadn’t been in that state for two weeks already.

“So what you’re saying, Frank – is that everybody who comes here doesn’t really want to be here.”

He turned to watch her profile – curls blowing beautifully, haphazardly around her face.

“That – or they have no other options.”

She turned to face him, then – fixed her whisky eyes on him – and he couldn’t correct her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/171413082405/uitlander)

**Chapter 1**

**Arrival**

**Camp’s Bay**

**Cape Colony**

**Friday, December 2, 1825**

* * *

                                                                  

* * *

“Is that all, mum?”

Claire lay a steady hand on her trunk – strong, sturdy, emblazoned QLB in gold block letters. “Yes, thank you – I like to travel light.”

The sailor shrugged, shooing a seagull from the prow of the rowboat.

Frank shuffled his weight between his three trunks – one full of books for his new classroom, the two others comprising the sum total of his worldly goods – holding on to the side of the boat for dear life.

“Dinna fash yerself, sir.” The other sailor smiled at them – showing off four gold teeth. “We willna let ye capsize. Should only take twenty minutes to make our way to shore.”

Claire didn’t look back at the _Porpoise_ – the vessel linking her safe, predictable life in Oxford to whatever awaited her on the beach.

“My God, the color of the water!” she exclaimed. “I’ve never seen such shades of blue and green.”

Frank tapped her knee. “Look ahead, Claire – that’s the Table Mountain. And from this angle – do you see those other crags? Those are the Twelve Apostles.”

The mountain stood sentinel over the Cape – strange, majestic. Different. Just like everything else here, at the end of the world.

“Uncle Lamb told me that the mountain has its own peculiar weather patterns. It could be clear as crystal one moment, and then the next a dense fog will just appear, and cover the entire mountain.”

“Aye.” The sailor rowing closest to her right wiped the sweat from his brow. “Mister Pound – he’s the ship’s astronomer – he calls it the Devil’s Tablecloth. It’s bad luck for any ship that pulls into the Cape when the tablecloth is on the mountain.”

Claire clenched her fist, knuckles white, bunching the fabric of her dress. “And was the tablecloth on the mountain when we arrived today?”

“I was sleeping, mum. But Manzetti here – he says that it was a half tablecloth.”

“So what does that mean?” A small wave crashed over the side, but Frank dodged the water just in time.

“Nobody knows,” Manzetti muttered. “Nobody had ever seen it before.”

Claire sighed, sitting up a bit straighter. Watching the knot of people gathered on the beach.

“He’ll be there to greet us, Claire.” Frank craned his neck, glancing up and down the shoreline. “We’ll live with him, for a time – until everything is sorted. I’m not sure what the accommodations at the school will be – the headmaster was distressingly vague in his letters.”

“I suppose we both have nothing but time now,” she sighed, mind scattered in a thousand directions.

Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.

From this distance, the colony finally came into focus. A few high church steeples. Clusters of red-tiled roofs, surrounded by palm trees. Fishing boats bobbed in the tide. All surrounded by a semicircle of jagged mountains – anchored by the Table.

“In the original days of the Dutch settlement, the VOC built a wall on the other side of the table. To demarcate the boundaries of the colony.”

Even now – her emotions cresting like the waves battering their rowboat – Frank saw nothing else, save a fresh opportunity to teach. “Today there are countless farms on the other side – run by the descendants of the original Dutch settlers, with some French Huguenots mixed in for good measure. Many of them have farms that have been passed down since the late seventeenth century.”

“What do they grow?”

“Cattle, mostly. And wine. Lots of wine.”

“Sounds profitable.”

“It is. But problematic for His Majesty – because these Dutch don’t want to be English. They still speak their own language – worship in their own churches. They’re still upset at their King, for losing to Napoleon and ceding this territory to us. That’s why the Crown is always bringing more and more soldiers out here – Jack says that the locals simply have no interest in serving a king they don’t recognize.”

Verdant. Claire had never considered the true meaning of the word – but now, with the figures on the beach growing bigger, the colors of the earth and grasses and trees dotting the slopes of the Table were unbelievably vibrant.

“…is still legal – though of course you’re aware of the efforts throughout the Empire to abolish slavery. Most of them in the colony aren’t even from this part of Africa. That’s because the natives – the Xhosa – they’re dangerous. They have been known to attack the farms and settlements, now and again. So the Crown imports blacks from other parts of Africa.” A beat. “How do you feel about slavery, Claire?”

“I could never own – or be owned by – another human being.” And then the rowers all jumped out and pushed the boat to shore.

Frank stood, scanning the crowd. Claire flinched as he lay a hand on her shoulder.

“I see him! I see him!”

And then the hull scraped sand. Frank slid out – and offered a helping hand to Claire, who carefully set both feet on the shore of Africa.

Clutching her hand, Frank weaved through the throng amassed on the beach – children and mothers and fathers and carts and horses and donkeys and slaves and Malay traders and all manner of people. For he had eyes only for one man –

“Alex!”

Frank dropped Claire’s hand and swept a small, sober man into a tight embrace. He actually sounded relaxed, when he laughed.

Claire stood awkwardly beside them, wilting in the sun.

“Oh! Where are my manners?”

Frank pulled back, grinning ear to ear.

“Alex – may I have the honor of presenting your fiancée – Miss Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.”

Reverend Alexander Randall – clad head to toe in black, dark hair close-cropped, forehead beaded with sweat, bowed. “Such a pleasure to finally meet you, Claire.” His voice was thin – higher-pitched than she had imagined. “I am so very delighted for you to be here – for now, we can fully build our life together.”

The hand that now held hers was soft, and clammy, but sincere. He met her eyes for the first time – Christ, did she look as terrified as he did?

Over Alex’s shoulder she watched two men climb off a wagon, returning moments later to hoist her trunk onto the back before fetching Frank’s things. The older, bearded man must have told a joke – the words lost in the din of the crowd – and the younger, clean-shaven man smiled, his red hair radiant in the drenching sun.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/171657847098/uitlander?is_related_post=1)

**Chapter 2**

**The Road**

**Friday, December 2, 1825**

* * *

                                                                       

* * *

“Just a little over an hour to the place where I’m living – the Frasers have been most generous in providing a home. The London Missionary Society has its heart set on the right things – but God knows they don’t think of practicalities like food and shelter when they send us out here.”

The wagon pitched violently from side to side as the two solid workhorses pulled across yet another dip in the dirt road. Claire’s skirts slid on the smooth boards of the front bench, bumping against the driver. The Randall brothers shared the back bench, and the bearded man perched in the rear, holding on to the four trunks.

“And what’s the name of this farm?”

“Noord Toring.” Claire’s neighbor touched his cap in greeting at the ox-drawn wagon that had just passed them on the road, heading for the beach. “It means North Tower in Dutch. Named after a small watchtower built by my great-great-great grandfather. We’ve had it in the family since 1686 – when he got his first land grant from the Compagnie.”

“The Compagnie is the VOC – the Dutch East India Company,” Frank helpfully explained. “A private enterprise, with the full backing of the Dutch government, that ran the Colony until Prince William signed it over to us.”

“It wasn’t exactly a fair transaction,” the driver interjected. “The English king kicked the Dutch when we were already down. But there it is.”

“But you don’t have a Dutch surname – Fraser must be Scottish, if I’m correct?”

The driver turned to Claire – sharing a hint of a smile. “I’m only half Dutch. Cape Dutch. My mother, Elin – she was my grandfather Kotze’s only surviving child, fifth generation at Noord Toring. But my father, Brian Fraser – he was born in the Scottish Highlands, and escaped to the Cape when he was a very young man. He and his cousin Murtagh – that’s him in the back – stowed away together. Papa came to work as a laborer at Noord Toring – and ended up running off with the boss’ daughter!”

“Quite the scandal at the time,” Murtagh Fraser piped up from the back, his Highland burr still evident after more than thirty years at the Cape. “But folk have gotten over it. Especially once they saw how well the two of them run the farm.”

“The Frasers tell me that such a mixed marriage is quite uncommon.” Alex wiped his brow with a grimy handkerchief. “Even today, more than ten years after the Crown took possession of the Cape. Dutch still tend to marry Dutch, and English still tend to marry English.”

“Is it just you at the farm?” Claire turned on the bench to watch her neighbor more closely.  “Or have you any brothers and sisters?”

“It’s my parents, Murtagh, me, my sister Janna, her husband Jan, and their children.” Like the Dutchmen she’d met at Oxford, he pronounced the J like a “y.” “Jan was my best friend growing up – he’s one hundred percent what we call Cape Dutch.” He paused, eyes on the road, thinking. “We also have several dozen laborers – free blacks, and Coloureds. We do not keep slaves, even though we’re allowed to by law. Papa and Mama could never own another human being.”

Claire let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “What does ‘Coloured’ mean?”

“It generally means mixed race.” She turned to face Alex, whose thin voice barely rose above the rumble of the cart on the road. “White with Black, White with Malay, Black with Malay…anyone who isn’t purely White or purely African.”

She pursed her lips, thinking.

“Pardon my ignorance – but do you speak English on the farm? Or Dutch?”

“Both. And some Scottish Gaelic, too – but don’t worry. You’ll be able to understand us.”

“I’ve picked up a fair bit of Dutch, Frank – and even some Xhosa as well, in my missionary work. You know, they provided a good course of study at the LMS…”

Quickly the Randall brothers became absorbed in their own conversation, leaving Claire to return her attention to the rutted road, the tall grasses, and the breathtaking sweep of mountains as they slowly gained elevation.

Claire squinted, shielding her eyes from the sun.

The driver shifted both reins into his right hand, rummaging under the bench before producing a crumpled straw hat.

“Here – this is my sister’s. The light is something fierce this time of day.”

Touched by the man’s thoughtfulness, Claire gratefully accepted the hat. “Thank you. I’m embarrassed to ask – but what’s your name?”

He turned to her, sharing a wide smile. “Jamie. Jamie Fraser.”

Claire tilted her head, holding on securely to the brim of the hat. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Claire, but you know that.”

“I do. It’s all Alex has been talking about, the past few weeks.” He turned back to face the road, and the shoulders of the horses, in constant motion. “You’re brave to come all the way here, to marry a man you’ve never met.”

Disarmed by Jamie’s forthrightness, Claire carefully considered her answer. “He was in need of a wife – and I was in need of somewhere to go.”

“I hope you don’t mind me asking – but do you have no family, then?”

“Just my uncle. He raised me, after my parents died in a carriage accident when I was five. Lamb is a lecturer at Oxford University – Frank was one of his students. And Frank told me about Alex. And their older brother, Jack – I understand he’s the garrison commander at the fort.”

“He is.”

Claire furrowed her brow at Jamie’s clipped response. “Do you know him?”

“I do.”

For a long moment neither of them spoke, listening to the creak of the wagon wheels and the drone of Frank’s voice.

“This is not a forgiving country, Miss Beauchamp.” Jamie’s voice – strong, confident – was a bit subdued. “The weather can be unpredictable. The tribes can be dangerous, if you don’t know how to deal with them. The lions will kill your cattle and sheep in their pastures. And we may live under English law, now – but we’re a very long way from London.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

That half-smile again. “You’re a witty one. You’ll do just fine here.”

She swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. “Will I?”

He turned to look at her. His eyes were like the water in the shallows where the _Porpoise_ had anchored.

“I’ll see to it.”

Claire’s heartbeat – already pounding – quickened.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/171895821549/uitlander)

**Chapter 3**

**Noord Toring**

**Friday, December 2, 1825**

* * *

 

 

                                                                

 

* * *

 

Claire set the straw hat on her lap, absently brushing back her curls as the wagon slowed on a long drive shaded by thick trees.

“My dear, you’ll be living in the main house – as will Frank, and me, and the rest of the Fraser family. Frank told you about the mission I’m building, out in the wilds?”

Claire turned back, watching Alex brush dust from the folds of his black coat.

“Yes. How often do you go out there?”

“As often as I can – and unfortunately, my ill health prevents any prolonged stays.”

“Alex was frequently sick, back in England,” Frank explained. “Jack thought a change in climate would be beneficial – the seasons being warmer and drier here.”

“It’s been a terrific improvement in just the eighteen months I’ve been here. Though I certainly couldn’t have accomplished so much without my native helpers – and the Frasers, of course.”

“Of course.” Claire smiled awkwardly at Alex, before turning around to face forward.

The strong, clean lines of the main house finally came into view. Three storeys high, with a shaded front porch and a sloped black roof that she recognized as typical of the Cape Dutch style. Off to the side stood several outbuildings – farms and storehouses, no doubt – all nestled in the foothills of a mountain, and overseen by the namesake tower, round and solid.

“Those will be my parents, and Janna, and Jan,” Jamie explained, watching the figures emerge through the front door and assemble on the porch. “They’ll be pleased to meet you, Miss Beauchamp – it’s been quite a while since a proper English lady visited our farm.”

“I’m hardly proper,” Claire murmured, twisting her hands in her lap.

Jamie eased the wagon to a slow stop. “Let us be the judge of that.”

Two men and two women beamed at the new arrivals. The older man stepped forward just as Murtagh hopped off the back of the wagon. Together they extended helping hands to the Randall brothers.

“Mister and Mistress Fraser, Mister and Mistress van der Meer – may I present my elder brother, Professor Franklin Wolverton Randall, lately of Oxford University?”

Frank made a formal bow to his hosts.

“Pleasure to meet ye,” smiled the older man. “I’ll be Brian Fraser – this here is my wife, Elin. Our daughter Janna – and her husband Jan.”

With one glance it was clear that Brian and Elin were Jamie’s parents – for he had inherited his father’s smile and tall stature, and his mother’s flaming red hair. Janna seemed to have inherited the opposite traits – her father’s dark features, and her mother’s short height. But her smile was warm – as was that of her husband, who walked quite slowly on a wooden leg.

Claire hadn’t even realized that Jamie had left the bench beside her until his hand darted in front of her eyes – calloused palm facing upward. Carefully, gratefully she took his hand – and he startled her by lifting her straight out of the wagon and onto the ground.

Alex turned his head and started at the sight of Claire – as if he had forgotten she was in attendance. He coughed – a deep, racking cough that no measure of warm weather would ever cure.

“And may I present to you my fiancée – the lovely Claire Beauchamp, also late of Oxford University.”

He reached for her hand. She stepped over to stand closer to her fiancé, his hand soft and small and clammy. Then she curtseyed politely to her hosts.

“Thank you so very much for providing such a beautiful place to stay. I don’t know how much Alex may have told you, but I’ve got medical experience, and I’m happy to treat any of you or anyone on this farm, should they require it.”

“Oh that’s lovely!” Elin beamed, grabbing Claire’s hands within her own. “I’m a midwife – I’m sure we will have plenty to talk about.”

This time Claire’s smile reached her eyes. “That would be lovely.” She nodded a greeting at Janna – heavily pregnant – and Jan.

“But where are my manners?” Brian exclaimed. “Come in, come in! Have some wine, grown right here on the farm.”

Claire nodded her thanks, turning back to find Jamie already halfway across the yard, leading the horses to their stable.

–

They had settled in the sitting room while the servants took their luggage upstairs. There they had met Murtagh’s wife Suzette, their ten-year-old twin sons Rupert and Angus, and Janna and Jan’s three-year-old son Jamie and one-year-old daughter Greet (“short for Margaret, in Dutch,” Janna had explained).

“So many people in this house!” Claire exclaimed, sipping the surprisingly good wine Brian poured from a heavy green decanter. “How do you fit everyone in?”

“Murtagh and Suzette and the boys have their own cottage out near the tower. Brian and I have the master bedroom – Janna and Jan and the children are upstairs, as are Jamie and Alex,” Elin explained, serving Janna an extra-large helping of butter cake. “There are two more bedrooms on the third floor – I’m thinking you and Alex can switch rooms, so that he and Frank are on the third floor. Would that be all right?”

“Quite,” Frank nodded. “I don’t mean to impose on you so – only, it wasn’t very clear what my accommodations would be at the school, and I’m sure I’ll find out once I make a proper visit.”

“It’s no worry at all,” Brian insisted. “The Cape needs learned men like yerself to show us what a good education truly is. And Alex is doing the Lord’s work, and I respect that, even though we worship at different churches.”

“Is that right?” Claire chewed on her own slice of butter cake – so refreshing, after eighty days of potatos and hardtack on the _Porpoise_.

“I’m Church of England, of course,” Alex explained, sipping from his tea – for he abstained from all alcohol. “But the Frasers are of the Dutch Reformed Church. It’s a form of Calvinism brought here by the original settlers in the seventeenth century. They worship in the Dutch language.”

Jamie finally entered, ducking under the doorframe and settling in the free chair between Murtagh and Jan. Quietly Murtagh handed him a glass of wine.

“I’m Catholic, Alex – I don’t know if Frank ever told you.”

The room went quiet; Claire’s cheeks flamed. Alex’s eyes widened.

“He – he did not.” Alex swallowed awkwardly. “But you’ll be converting, of course – makes no sense for the wife of a missionary to be of a different religion than her husband.”

Claire didn’t know why her gaze sought Jamie at that moment – and the thunder in his eyes almost stopped her heart.

“Can we talk about it later?” she suggested, desperately seeking to avoid this conversation in front of her hosts. “I think we need to discuss that, and many other things.”

“Back in the dooryard, you said you had medical experience.” The room swiveled to face Jamie. “What kind of medical experience?”

Claire shot him a look of a silent thousand thanks. “Well – where should I start?”

“The beginning, if you please.”

He really was handsome when he smiled.

Claire pursed her lips, thinking. “My uncle is a professor of history – classical history – at Oxford. Through him and his connections, I’ve taken courses at the university – botany, biology, physics, mathematics. I would make home visits in the village, treating cuts and broken bones – even attended a few births. And I apprenticed with an apothecary, so I know my way around plants, and how to make my own medicines.”

“That’s wonderful, Claire!” Suzette beamed. “Elin knows her way around the basics, but it will be so nice to have someone here who can help with more than just that.”

“Yes,” Janna nodded, rubbing her belly. “You would be surprised at how many small injuries occur on this farm every day. And now that summer is here, with the harvesting – there will be even more.”

“Will ye stay for a while, then?” Jan wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders, the other rubbing the stump of his leg. “You, and Alex?”

Alex turned to look at his betrothed. “We will need to discuss that. As well as set a date for our marriage.”

“A wedding!” Elin exclaimed. “How lovely.”

The sun blazed through four high windows. Claire felt as cold as ice.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/172134123919/uitlander)

**Chapter 4**

**Dialogue**

**Friday, December 2, 1825**

* * *

 

                                                        

* * *

 

“You’re sure that you’re not too fatigued from your journey?”

“No, I’m not – thank you. I finally feel energized, after almost three months on that ship.”

It was a few hours later; having unpacked most of her trunk and settled her things in the lovely hand-carved cabinets in the small but cozy bedroom at the end of the hall, Claire now sat on the shaded porch, the Frasers and van der Meers and servants bustling about them, busy with the running of Noord Toring.

Alex nodded, pulling at the thick collar of his coat. “Yes, yes – I do know the feeling myself.”

For a long moment Claire just watched the clouds pass over the mountains. Whoever had built the main house had situated it perfectly in a valley cradled by two majestic peaks.

“Tell me about your mission?”

“Ah.” Alex set down his tea. “It’s about thirty miles northeast of here – ten miles from the nearest white settlement. A perfect place, right by a river, so there is plenty of water. And right by at least three native villages – they are the makings of my flock.”

“Isn’t it dangerous, to be out there all on your own? I’ve heard things – ”

“Attacks, you mean? Sure, it happens – but my goal is peaceful contact. There are tens of thousands – maybe even millions – of souls that I can save here. Spreading God’s word will convince them to lay down their spears and set aside their grudges.”

Claire absently pulled at a stray thread on her sleeve. “And you’re expecting me to live out there, with you?”

“Of course – you can minister to my flock in a different way, as their healer. I heal their souls, you heal their bodies.”

Far above the line of trees shading the entry road, a hawk wheeled – graceful, languid. Free.

“I won’t convert for you, or for anyone,” she said quietly. “You’re a man of faith – surely you can respect strong feelings about that.”

“Claire, I don’t know – ”

“It’s the faith of my uncle – of my parents. It’s the one last link I have to them.” She turned to face him squarely, tucking her legs into the side of the chair. “Don’t ask me to change that about myself. It’s the same as if you were to ask me to stop treating patients. I can’t do it. _Won’t_ do it.”

“We don’t have to decide this now,” he smiled thinly. “But would you be open to setting a date for our wedding? I need to plan a trip to the mission – to resume the construction – and I can be gone for a month or more.”

“No.”

He sighed. “Not even to say, roughly, a few weeks from now?”

“I said _no_ , Alex. Perhaps you plan your trip, and go to the mission – and we can discuss when you return.”

“But Claire – ”

“Are you in a rush? Because I’m not. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“You don’t.” Alex sat up straighter. His voice took an edge she didn’t expect. “Frank told me about the woman you killed.”

Claire bristled. “I was trying to save her. She was giving birth – the baby was a breach. I had no choice but to attempt the caesarean.”

Alex looked down at his small, pale hands – almost pure white against his black trousers. “And yet the coroner ruled that death could have been avoided.”

“I did the right thing. You wouldn’t have done anything different, had you been in my situation.”

She watched him twist his fingers together. “I guess the Cape Colony is as good a place to come as any, when you have no life left in England. I should know.”

Claire lifted a shaking hand to the side of her face, brushing back the curls that had escaped her chignon in the heat. Deep breath – then another. She was here – she had escaped. She had a new life.

But a life full of what?

“I’ll need time to adjust to living here, Alex – to the weather, and the customs. I’ll need to learn how to cook and mend – they were never important to Uncle Lamb, so I never learned. And – ”

“Miss Beauchamp!”

Claire whirled to see one of Murtagh’s sons – Rupert, or was it Angus? – panting on the bottom step.

“Yes? What’s the matter?”

“It’s Jamie – he’s hurt, in the barn.”

Claire immediately stood, heedless of Alex, taking control. “Can you point out which building? And go upstairs to my room – the bedroom at the end of the hall – and fetch my medicine box. It’s on the bed.”

The boy nodded, pointed to the large thatched outbuilding to the left, and darted into the house.

Claire flew down the steps, not wasting a goodbye on the man who could only watch her leave.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/172375864410/uitlander)

**Chapter 5**

**Wounds**

**Friday, December 2, 1825**

* * *

                                                            

* * *

“Claire! Thank goodness.” Elin wrung her hands, fretting over her son – sitting propped up against a support beam, breathing shallowly, blood soaking his shirt.

“What happened?” Claire knelt, pushing back the neck of Jamie’s shirt to reveal a sizable gash.

“He was using the grappling hooks to fetch bales of hay from the loft,” Murtagh explained from his seat at Jamie’s side, holding him up. “One of the horses startled – and a hay bale came crashing down, pushing the hook into his shoulder.”

“I just feel a bit dizzy – I’ll be fine,” Jamie huffed.

Young Rupert materialized at Claire’s side, breathing heavily. “Your medicine box?”

“Thank you.” She continued to examine the wound – several inches deep, with blood already crusting the edges. Jamie’s skin, flame-hot, soaked with sweat. Then turned to face Elin.

“I’ll need some boiling water and lots of clean cloth. And alcohol.”

“Not to worry, lass – ye can use my flask. We make whisky on the farm, too – but dinna tell the Crown, aye?”

“Thank you, Murtagh.” Gratefully Claire took the flask, and Murtagh quickly rose.

“Elin – let’s get what the lass asked, aye? Rupert – run ahead to the kitchens and speak wi’ Missus Crook. There’s a good lad.”

Claire turned to face Elin. “He’ll be all right – I know what I’m doing. Those supplies will be helpful for me, in a few minutes.”

Elin pursed her lips, darted to bestow a quick kiss on Jamie’s brow, and headed with Murtagh out of the barn.

Claire turned back to her patient – who watched her from behind hooded lids, leaning against the wooden beam. “Such a big fuss over such a small thing.”

“It’s not small – your wound is at least three inches deep and an inch across. I’ll need to stitch you up – not to mention douse it with alcohol to make sure it’s clean.” She paused, thinking. “I’ll need to tear your shirt to get better access to the wound – is that all right?”

He started to reply, but already she had shifted to kneel behind him, ripping the back of his shirt in two. Then the cool burn of alcohol on the wound – but the resulting gasp came from her lips, not his.

For Claire saw that Jamie’s back was a patchwork of crisscrossed scars. Harsh scars.

Gently she traced one welt from his shoulder to his spine. He shivered.

Silence stretched between them – full and infinite.

“Why were you flogged?” she whispered. Grateful that she didn’t need to meet his eyes. Her fingertips remained in the well of his back.

Beneath her fingers he let in – and released – a very deep breath.

“I helped two slaves escape.”

Claire let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “That’s it?”

“That’s it. Mama and Papa – they freed all the slaves on this farm, when they took over from my grandfather Kotze. And for years they have provided shelter to slaves escaping from other farms, or from the town. Give them a bed in the outbuildings, a few meals, and help them quietly pass into the veldt on the other side of the farm. We’ve been doing it since I was a boy.”

“But to help two escape – why were you not imprisoned? Why were you flogged?”

He sighed. “Because the garrison commander was new, and he wanted to make an example out of a Cape Dutch boy. To show what happens when you defy the Crown’s laws.”

Claire straightened, sifting in her medical box for tweezers. Crouching over the wound, she cleaned the blades with a bit of whisky, and began removing bits of straw and dirt from the wound.

It had to have been painful – but Jamie never made a sound.

“That punishment is horrifically disproportionate to the crime. I can’t believe it was done, and under the auspices of British justice.”

“Do you remember what I told you, on the way here from the beach?” His breath came shallow, but his voice neve wavered. “We are a long way from London, Claire. Rules aren’t applied in the same way here, as they would be in England. Everyone knows the army thought Jack Randall too unstable to send to India. So we ended up with him here in the Cape, instead. And we have to live with that.”

She swallowed. “Alex and Frank’s brother did this to you?”

“Yes. A hundred lashes. Imprisoned me for a few days before, too.”

He craned his neck to meet her eyes – just inches from his own.

“And despite that – despite the pain and humiliation, still you provide his brothers with a home.”

“I do. I hold no grudge against them. They are not their brother.”

A horse stomped somewhere in the barn. Murtagh and Elin’s shadows darkened the doorway.

“But one day, Claire – one day, I will bring him the justice he deserves.”

Then it was a blur of bandages and water and whisky, and Claire focused on nothing but the fresh wound on Jamie’s neck – and the healed wounds scrawled across his back.

–

“Well done, Claire!” Frank smiled. “You’ve certainly proven your worth, and on your very first day, too!”

Claire moved her lips into a smile, returning her gaze to the mutton and corn meal – “pap,” Janna had explained – and green beans on her dinner plate.

“You stayed so calm,” Elin added. “I learned so much just by watching you – and the tools in your box are exquisite.”

“Uncle Lamb had them made for me, in Oxford. Nothing is dearer to me than those scissors and scalpels and tweezers and forceps. Or my knives.”

“Got to keep an extra eye on that one, eh?” Murtagh elbowed Alex, who promptly choked on his water.

“Nicely done, Claire.” Brian raised his wine in a toast. “You’ve fit right in here at Noord Toring.”

This time her smile was genuine, and she nodded her thanks.

So close to the summer equinox – she had to keep reminding herself that the seasons here at the Cape were the exact opposite of England – the sun did not set until way past eight in the evening. She had had an indescribably long and full day – but between the sunlight, and the pride in a job well done, she felt she could keep going forever.

But still, her vision swam with Jamie’s sea of scars, and his nonchalance, and the utter horror that the Randall family had wrought on him.

How could she ever marry into that family, knowing that a Randall – even one she had never met – could so casually inflict so much pain?

“Jamie?”

He looked straight at her. It was the first time she had said his name.

“Would you mind if I checked your wound, and redid the dressing?”

“Not at all. Mama – Papa?”

“Go ahead,” Elin replied, dismissing them from the table with a wave of her hand. “The best light now will be out back, behind the kitchen.”

“Meet you there?”

Jamie nodded – and Claire stepped away from the table, ignoring Alex’s stare, and went to the sitting room to fetch the remaining bandages and her medicine box.

She found Jamie sitting on the back porch, watching the sunset against yet another set of mountains.

“It’s so beautiful here.”

He turned to face her. “My ancestors had good taste.”

She settled on the bench beside him. Feeling no need to say anything. Sharing space.

“Does Alex know about your back?”

He shrugged, almost as if his shirt – his new shirt – was too tight at the shoulders.

“No. And he won’t. Neither will Frank.”

She reached out to touch him – but pulled her hand back.

“Why? Surely they have a right to know.”

“To know what? That their brother is a half-mad, vengeful man? That there are rumors that he takes native boys to bed? That he runs that fort under a reign of terror?”

He turned to her – eyes wide, wild.

“Men like him make this place unsafe for you, Claire. And men like Alex and Frank won’t protect you from them.”

She swallowed, heart somewhere in her throat. “Why are you telling me this?”

He sighed. “Because you asked. Because you have a right to know. Because you may be from their country – but you’re not of them.”

His eyes touched something deep within her. Powerless to pull away.

“You’re very perceptive.”

“I’ve had to be, to survive. Growing up with a Scottish father and a Dutch mother – surrounded by freed slaves – and our neighbors the Groots coveting our farm. I was born with both eyes open. And Claire, something tells me that so were you.”

They looked at each other for a long moment, his hair flaming with the setting sun.

“Let me look at that shoulder,” she whispered.

She stood, and he obligingly unbuttoned his shirt and pushed the neck over his shoulder.

Her cool hands peeled back the old bandage, clotted with blood – inspecting her eight neat stitches.

“It’s scabbing over nicely…there’s no drainage. You can’t use it for at least a few days, or else you’ll tear the stitches out. And you don’t want me to have to do that all over again, do you?”

Carefully, skillfully she wrapped a fresh bandage over the wound. As she tied off the knot, his hand boldly settled on hers.

“You need not ever be scared of me – or anyone else here, in the Cape. So long as I’m with you.”

Memory flared – Alex’s thin, hairless wrists snaking out of his shirtsleeves. Jamie’s brawny, hairy wrist, skin on skin with hers.

“You can’t promise that,” she breathed. “That’s not your promise to make. I don’t belong to you.”

He withdrew his hand. Claire clenched her fingers into a fist. Then he rose.

“You’ll never belong to anyone, Claire – save the man you choose to belong to. And what a lucky, lucky man he’ll be.”

And was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/172621076474/uitlander)

**Chapter 6**

**Town**

**Thursday, December 15, 1825**

* * *

                                         


* * *

Frank let out a shout of surprise as the wagon passed over a particularly large bump.

“Sorry!” Jamie exclaimed. “These rains have made the road even worse.”

“Yet another thing for us to do, when we have the time,” Murtagh grumbled from his customary seat in the rear, sitting atop Frank’s three trunks.

From her seat beside Alex on the back bench, Claire watched Jamie roll his healing shoulder. Frank clapped Jamie heartily on the back – right on top of the scars inflicted by his brother.

“Don’t worry – I was just startled. I can’t express to you my gratitude that you would bring me and my things to the school.”

“You’re welcome – and you also know that we’re more familiar with the road out here than anyone who spends most of his time in the town. We’ll have you there before you know it.”

Frank had spent most of the past week in the Cape town – meeting new colleagues in the school, getting to know the families whose sons he would be educating once the new term began in January. Almost two weeks since his arrival at the Cape, today he was formally moving in to his new quarters – and Claire had seized the opportunity to tag along. She hadn’t yet left Noord Toring, though she had certainly kept busy – between helping Elin attend Janna’s smooth delivery of a healthy girl called Cato (the Dutch nickname for Katherine), and tending to the miscellaneous cuts and scrapes of the farm laborers, and taking daily long walks of the farm perimeter, observing the sun hit the sea and mountains in a thousand different ways, she had quickly settled in to the pattern of life at the farm.

Alex had accompanied her on many of those walks – sharing with her his dreams of the mission out in the veldt, and how they would run it together, and how they would live. How they would minister to the flock, and how they would trade with the nearby white farmers. How they would be able to live life on their own terms – not dictated by anyone in London or the Cape.

His head was full of dreams, to be sure – but as Claire walked through the knee-high grasses, collecting plants and fruits and leaves to add to her growing supply of medicines, she couldn’t help but think that they were all Alex’s dreams. Never once did he ask her what she wanted to do – the role she wanted to play in the partnership they would have. For it may be a marriage, but above all else he needed a helpmeet. Someone he could rely on implicitly to ensure the smooth running of the mission. He was right that this life would give them both the freedoms they could only dream of in England.

But a life according to Alex’s dreams was not her dream. Not when he refused to take her to the mission site, to show her firsthand where she would spend the rest of her life. He would be leaving right before Christmas, in order to spend the holiday ministering to his new flock. The realization that they would spend their first Christmas apart – with strangers – told Claire everything she needed to know about where his priorities lay. That he would always be married to God, and his flock, and his work – before he was married to her.

Today, however – today, she pushed all those thoughts from her mind. For today she would get her first glimpse of the town – the town that, if all held according to Alex’s plan, she would visit once every few years, if she was lucky.

The wagon curved along a bend carved into the side of a mountain – and there lay the city.

It was small, of course – nothing like London, or even Oxford. But the smooth, clean lines of the streets gleamed in the morning sun – light shining off the red tile roofs of the houses and the steeples of half a dozen churches. The odd five-pointed star of the brick fort caught the eye, the water in its moat like a mirror in the sun.

“You’ll know where the school is, Jamie?”

“Near the market, correct?”

“Yes, that’s the one. Have you been? Were you educated at the old one?”

Jamie shifted on the bench. “My father educated me, and Janna too. But the school isn’t too far from the fort. I’ve been in that area, once or twice.”

Claire smoothed the fabric of her dress over her knees. Trying not to think about the courage it took for Jamie to share those words.

Jamie. His shoulder was nearly healed – and since that incredible, unbelievable first day, he hadn’t spoken to her, save the expected pleasantries when she passed him in the hallway, or replaced his bandage, or bid her good night as he closed the door to his bedroom, beside hers on the second floor of the farmhouse.

Something he had said resonated within her, with every step she took every day. That this place was unsafe – and that she couldn’t rely on any Randall to protect her.

Was he right? The Cape was certainly dangerous – the Xhosa did indeed attack farms and raid cattle now and again, and the Fraser/van der Meer family had nobody to rely on but themselves, out in the countryside. Alex’s mission in the wilds loomed like a dark, formless shadow in her mind. She didn’t doubt his commitment – but would he succeed, when so many others had failed?

“The school is also very close to the Governor’s mansion, Frank. Did you notice?”

“No, Alex, I can’t say that I did. Perhaps we can have a quick look when we are there today?”

“I don’t see why not – you should find a way to get yourself introduced to him. He’s a lovely chap – an Oxford man, if you can believe it. John Grey.”

“Lord Grey? Viscount Melton’s brother?”

Both Randall brothers turned to face Claire. “Do you know him?”

“He was one of Uncle Lamb’s students – both he and his brother, in fact. I haven’t seen him in ages, and I doubt he’d remember me.”

“But he’d certainly remember your uncle – if nothing else, Quentin Lambert Beauchamp is one of those men who sticks on one’s memory for years and years.” Frank smiled at this bit of news. “Would you mind making inquiries with the Governor’s staff, Claire? An introduction would be vital to my survival here at the Cape.”

“Perhaps there’s no need for you to go through Claire, Frank – Governor Grey knows Jack.”

Claire felt Murtagh Fraser stiffen behind her, the knuckles of his hand gripping the back of the bench growing white.

“That would be your elder brother?” she asked, desperately trying to steer the conversation.

“Yes – Frank, we should pay a visit to him, too, while we’re here. When was the last time the three of us were together?”

“Let’s see…he’s been here, what, four years?”

“Five,” Jamie interjected. “I remember when he first arrived.”

“…and he was stationed in Scotland before that, so…perhaps seven years, then? That’s a long time.”

“I can’t believe you’ve only seen him once since you arrived.” Now that they were making their final approach into the town, Frank set his formal top hat on his head.

“You see how far it is from the Fraser farm to the town, Frank. And besides, I’ve been so caught up in the preparations for my mission…”

“It won’t be much farther to the school. Perhaps you can assist me in settling in, Alex? Claire – would you mind if we left you in the care of these Fraser gentlemen?”

“There’s no place I’d rather be,” she replied, watching the city come into view.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/172858294091/uitlander)

**Chapter 7**

**School**

**Thursday, December 15, 1825**

* * *

                                             

 

* * *

It was an imposing building – gleaming in its newness. “CAPE SCHOOL,” proclaimed the carving above the lintel.

In the shade of a palm tree across the street, Claire and Murtagh sat in the wagon as Jamie rubbed down the horses, drinking greedily from a public trough.

“Went up just last year,” Murtagh remarked. “A proper school, they said. For the proper lads living in the colony.”

“Is it just a boys’ school, then?” Claire twisted her shoulders, stretching her stiff back. “Did the crown build a girls’ school as well?”

Murtagh gave her a withering look. “Are ye dreaming? Of course not. The girls are still educated at the old school, closer to the beach.”

“And likely in only literature and languages, no doubt. No science or mathematics.”

“This school is meant for the English boys,” Jamie explained, combing stray leaves from the manes of the horses. “For the sons of the soldiers, and Crown officials. And a few wealthy families.”

“But what about the Dutch boys?”

“They can be educated here only if they speak English,” Murtagh explained. “And many families want their boys to speak Dutch.”

“How were you educated, Jamie, if you don’t mind me asking? In English, or in Dutch?”

“In both. It helps when you have parents who speak both – who understand the importance of both. But I never could have been schooled here.”

“Rupert and Angus will never be eligible, either,” Murtagh sighed.

Claire’s brow furrowed. “That’s unfair. Just because you live outside the city, doesn’t mean that the Crown has a right to deny them an education.”

“Have you considered, Claire, that perhaps we wouldn’t want them educated here, even if they were allowed?”

She turned then toward Jamie. His broad face betrayed no emotion – but she knew now that that did not mean he felt nothing.

“Because you want them to know your language and culture, and be educated in your ways? The Cape Dutch ways?”

“Yes. We may be white, like the English – but our history is different. Our customs are different. Our priorities are different.”

His eyes flamed with passion. She swallowed.

Murtagh hopped down from the wagon, silently switching places with Jamie, who slid beside Claire on the bench.

“Do you know what we call the English?”

She could only shake her head.

“ _Uitlander_. It means foreigner – outsider. A British person living here, among the Dutch. Someone who doesn’t belong.”

Claire nodded, processing this bit of information. Somewhere nearby, a church bell clanged four times, echoing off the streets of hard, red packed dirt. The school stood silently across the way, red brick gleaming in the drenching sun. A handsome carriage – driven by a very dark man wearing very white livery – rumbled by.

“Is that what you think of me? Am I an outlander?”

A young man, carefully balancing packages and sealed envelopes, walked swiftly down the school’s front steps and turned the corner.

Jamie’s hand, splayed on the bench between them, edged just close enough to Claire’s skirts so that his fingertips brushed the rough muslin.

“Yes, Claire – but you will come to belong here. The Randalls never will.”

Murtagh then exclaimed something in a foreign language – whether it was Dutch in a Scottish accent, or Scottish Gaelic, she couldn’t tell. Jamie responded in the same language – voice thick and angry.

“Er – would it be possible to post a letter while we’re here? I’ve written something for my Uncle in Oxford…”

Jamie whirled to face her, cheeks flaming. He licked his lips. “Of course – I have some letters from my parents as well. We’ll stop by the postal office on our way back to the farm.”

Just then Frank emerged from the door of the school, waving. “Claire! Come inside!”

She sighed, and jumped from the wagon before Murtagh could offer a helping hand.

“I feel bad leaving you here in the sun…”

“Dinna fash, lass,” Murtagh smiled, eyes kind. “We’ll manage.”

Claire nodded, then swiftly crossed the street, gathering her skirts as she climbed the steps. Murtagh and Jamie watched her disappear inside behind Frank.

“What in God’s name are ye doing, lad?” Murtagh murmured in English. “She is betrothed.”

Jamie gripped the sides of the bench, still staring at the front door of the school. “It’s not a good match. Anyone with eyes in their head can see that. Claire herself can see that.”

“That doesna concern you. She’s English. They’re English.”

“She’s English, yes – but not that kind of English. She’s different.”

Murtagh smirked. “I’ll give ye that – she’s no’ like any English lady I’ve ever known. Minds me of yer Mam, of course. And Suzette. Strong, smart, willa listen to any man.”

“She knows about Jack Randall. I told her.”

“And why did ye do that? She’ll be marrying into that family, for Christ’s sake. She didna need to ken that.”

“She did. She asked – she saw my back, when she fixed my shoulder. What was I supposed to do – lie to her?”

“Mmphmm.”

Together they sat in silence for a long while. Watched the errand boy return, laden with new letters and packages. Shooed away a family of Coloured beggars. Tipped their hats to the ladies who rode by in splendid carriages.

“You know as well as I do that once Alex takes her to his mission, we will never see either of them again. She’s strong, but she can’t survive out there on her own. Alex can’t protect her. Or provide for her. Or allow her to be who she wants.”

“And _you_ will?”

“If she’ll have me.”

Murtagh heaved a deep sigh. “Christ, you get that romantic streak from yer Da.”

“Well, it worked with them, didn’t it? How many times has he told the story of how he saved Mama from marrying into the Groots? That’s why they’ve always wanted our land.”

“That’s different, and ye ken that weel. There was a lot at stake.”

“And how is there not a lot at stake now?”

Claire emerged from the front door of the school – the two Randall brothers trailing behind.

Jamie slid out of the wagon, helping Murtagh lead the horses across the street.

“You’re playing with fire, lad. And more than just you will get burnt.”

“God help me, godfather,” he said in Gaelic, steps away from Claire. “I want to be consumed.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/173322049322/uitlander)

**Chapter 8**

**Christmas**

**Saturday, December 24, 1825**

* * *

                                                                  

* * *

Claire sighed in contentment as she settled deeper into the rattan sofa on the shaded porch, cradling a warm mug of mulled wine.

For the Fraser/van der Meers, Christmas Eve dinner was a larger celebration than the actual holiday, and the family had outdone itself. A whole side of barbequed mutton – pap and potatos – green beans and carrots – thick, crusty bread – endless pies – and free-flowing wine and whisky. Five days it had taken Mistress Crook, Elin, Suzette, Janna (tiny Cato strapped to her chest), and Claire to prepare the meal, while Brian and Jan and Murtagh and Jamie had taken charge of slaughtering the sheep, digging a pit behind the house, and slow-roasting the meat for more than a day.

It had truly been a family affair – for the other side of mutton, together with the same portion of starches and vegetables and sides, had been served by the family to the house servants, farm laborers, and their families earlier in the day. A Noord Toring tradition, regardless of the person’s skin color or ancestry; the one day in the year that the family gave back to the roughly two dozen staff who were so vital in keeping the farm running.

Claire had relished every second of it. Learning from Elin how to peel a potato in less than a minute. Watching Suzette shape bread dough into crescents – croissants, she had called them. Observing Murtagh and Jamie hacking two types of branches into wood chips, to provide the right flavor when roasting the meat. Following Brian, young Jamie, Rupert, and Angus to the hidden cave where the family distilled and stored its whisky.

She sipped her wine, delighting in the deep, earthy spice of it. Smiling as Greet very gently held her newborn sister, under Janna’s close supervision. Jealous of Angus curled into the corner, absorbed in the new copy of _Gulliver’s Travels_ his uncle – cousin? – Jamie had given him for Christmas. Laughing as young Jamie chased his grandfather across the dooryard.

Alex had departed five days prior, wanting to reach his mission in time for Christmas. His Xhosa guide – whose Christian name of Thomas was incongruous with the almost nonexistent loincloth he wore to protect his modesty – had arrived as planned, and together they had set out for the mission.

She and Alex had still not kissed – or even initiated any kind of romantic contact. He hadn’t left her a Christmas gift (“every penny must go to the mission, dearest,” he had explained) – and his cheeks flamed when she had revealed her own gift to him, several packets of leaves and dried herbs that would be useful in case of illness of fever. He had only looked at her, vowed to return sometime in the new year, and disappeared through the front door. She hadn’t even followed him out of the house to see him off.

But today – today she would not think of Alex, or Frank – spending Christmas with his brother, at the fort – or anyone else, save her new family who had welcomed her with such open arms. Who had shown her respect, and unconditional love, and truly valued her for her own sake – not just for what she could do.

Christmases with Uncle Lamb had always been a quiet affair; simply a day free of teaching, which they could spend quietly together, with hot toddies before a roaring fire. They would take turns reading to each other from the Bible, or from the newspaper, and swap stories about the people they met in their everyday lives at the university.

This Christmas she was as far as she could be from Oxford, and from Lamb. She could have been sad – but instead, her heart rejoiced.

For this Christmas, she had been given the gift of family.

At dinner, Brian had said the blessing – first in Gaelic, his mother tongue, accompanied by Murtagh and Jamie – then in Dutch, accompanied by Elin and Janna and Jan – and finally in English, the voices of his children and grandchildren chorusing around him. Then a toast – to the family not with them (for the first time Claire learned of the two sons Brian and Elin had lost in infancy), then to the family that was with them, and finally for the family that would be with them next year (Janna and Jan had exchanged a knowing glance). Then dinner, and dessert, and finally presents.

Claire had prepared small things for everyone – even the children. Fragrant sachets, packed with dried mint and chamomile flowers, for Elin and Suzette and Janna. Packets of dried anise and wild fennel seeds for Brian, Jamie, Murtagh, Jan, and the boys to crunch on as they went about their chores. Everyone had beamed with joy at the simple gifts, warming Claire to the backbone.

And she had received gifts in turn – a medium-size mortar and pestle from Brian and Elin, to supplement the small one in her medicine box; a lovely apron, embroidered with forget-me-nots, from Suzette and Murtagh; a box of loose rooibos tea from Janna, Jan, and Jamie.

Such simple gifts – yet they were all carefully and thoughtfully selected, with practicality in mind. She was among people who truly loved each other – and whom she was growing to deeply love in return.

Claire finished her wine as the oranges and golds of sunset flooded the mountains sheltering this beautiful farm. At peace.

She turned to her right – to see Jamie at the other end of the porch, boots off, legs crossed, sipping his own mug of wine. Watching her.

He set down his mug and inclined his head toward the house. Then rose and disappeared inside.

Claire lay a hand on her collarbone, failing to calm her fluttering heart. Set down her own mug. Followed him through the open front door.

Jamie was already halfway upstairs, and she watched him turn left – heading for their bedrooms. Silently she followed, bare feet whispering against the wooden floor smoothed by hundreds of feet over hundreds of years. He darted into his bedroom but quickly emerged, leaning against the doorframe, his hand curled over something small. Watching her approach.

And then they stood together, alone – truly alone – for the first time.

His eyes were fire and haven and promise.

Jamie swallowed, reached for Claire’s hand, and pressed something cool into her palm. She tore her gaze from his, squinting down at the object.

“It’s the tooth of a lion.” His voice was so soft. Reverent. “I killed this lion when I was sixteen – it was attacking the sheep in the far pasture. In my mother’s family – the family that built this farm – a man is not a man until he has killed his first lion.”

“Jamie….” she gaped.

“…and here you will see that I fixed a blade to it. So that you can use it as a knife. But look – it’s easy to remove the blade, too, if you want to carry the tooth in your medicine box. It is a very powerful talisman.”

Claire’s hand circled around the tooth; the handle perfectly fit her grip.

She looked up at Jamie, biting back tears.

“You need to be able to protect yourself, Claire,” he breathed. “Always.”

Then he pressed a small, hand-tooled leather sheath into her free hand. Clearly it was made for the knife; he had burned a C into the smooth surface.

“This is leather from an antelope. For your knife with a lion’s tooth. A gift from Africa, so that you can survive in Africa.”

With shaking hands she sheathed the knife, slipped it into her pocket, and hesitantly, bravely reached out to cradle Jamie’s face.

His eyes closed in bliss, lips releasing a short breath –

“ _Nebhongo_.”

Her thumb stroked the dark circles beneath his eyes; the stubble of his chin, the two small scars pitting his cheek.

He stepped closer.

Downstairs, the door slammed.

“Jamie?”

His eyes flashed open. Locked with hers.

“Are you upstairs? Papa needs some help burying the ashes from the fire pit.”

“I’ll be right down, Mama!” he shouted.

Then he took Claire’s hand on his cheek, kissed it, and turned toward the staircase.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, throat still thick.

His smile was as dazzling as the sunset.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/173543556234/uitlander)

**Chapter 9**

**Epistle**

* * *

                                                                           

* * *

_Noord Toring_

_Cape Colony_

_Sunday, January 1, 1826_

_My dear Uncle Lamb,_

_I have been remiss in writing letters to you since my arrival four weeks ago – but I’m sure you’ll understand when I say that time passes very differently here at the bottom of the world._

_Christmas was an absolute delight. The Fraser/van der Meer family has welcomed me with open arms. They are a bit unconventional – their nationalities include Cape Dutch, French, and Scottish – but I understand that the mix is fairly typical here in the Cape. Noord Toring is the only farm in this area to pay every single farm laborer for their services, meaning that they (very proudly) own no slaves._

_Last evening I was treated to the annual Hogmanay celebrations. This is a relatively recent tradition,  having been introduced by the Scottish side of the family only within the past generation. Another large family supper – I feel I only just finished digesting Christmas Eve dinner a few days ago – followed by whisky and dancing. And then Brian Fraser ducked outside, to be the first to knock on the farmhouse door at midnight – the first guest to be admitted into the house in the new year. Tradition holds that this “first foot” must be dark-haired – which Brian most certainly is. His wife Elin and son Jamie, however – being flame-haired, and therefore ill luck – had to hide upstairs (in the custody of one of the grandchildren) until the “first foot” had crossed the threshold._

_The Frasers/van der Meers are all people who have every reason to dislike – or even detest, or disdain – an Englishwoman, as I represent the nation (and Empire) which they for the most part see as oppressive, both here at the Cape as well as in their countries of origin. But it does not matter to them. They love and respect me for myself – not just because of my connection to Alex – and for the skills I bring to their aid._

_I have absolutely flowered as a healer here. The abundance of plant life – useful herbs and leaves and trees with which to make my medicines – is truly astounding. Given that Noord Toring is a very busy farm, there are always minor injuries to tend to, in addition to the occasional fever and birth and broken limb that require a bit more expertise. I have been exposed to more types of experiences in my few weeks here than I ever could have imagined in Oxford. Neighboring farmers even bring their families (or slaves) to me for treatment._

_I know that the fact that I treat every patient equally – white, black, Coloured, slave, free, man, woman – rankles the neighbors. Especially the Groots – the neighboring family, who the Frasers tell me have had their eye on Noord Toring for generations. The fact that the current head of the farm, Willem Groot, was in love with Elin Fraser when they were young – only for Elin to marry Brian Fraser, a farmhand from the Scottish Highlands – certainly means that it is an interesting state of affairs._

_Alex Randall departed on December the twentieth, bound for his mission in the veldt. He has promised to return sometime in the new year, and that when he returns, we will have a proper discussion about when we will be married, and what our married life will be like._

_Uncle – I am grateful for the opportunity to live with the Frasers, and to treat as many patients as I do. Just as I am grateful for Alex opening his life to me – a woman he never met – and giving me somewhere to go after the debacle at Oxford. Knowing that soon I must leave all of this behind – this life that I have forged for myself, completely on my own – is a very bitter medicine._

_Life on the farm may be predictable, but I feel safe here. I will not feel safe living on my own at the mission, with only Alex. Things can be dangerous here – not only because there are lions, and Xhosa, and weather that changes at the drop of a hat. People here life a difficult life. And as Jamie has told me, numerous times – we may live under the Crown, but we are a very long way from London._

_I am capable, but I cannot defend myself against everything. God forgive me for saying so – neither can Alex._

_Uncle, I am dreading his return, because I know it will be the beginning of the end of a life I haven’t even begun. Do you think God considers that thought to be sinful?_

_I eagerly await your letter back, along with any news you can share about Oxford and the latest gossip from our nosy neighbors._

_I love you and miss you and remain_

_Your most affectionate niece,_

_Claire_

_Postscriptum – enclosed are three specimens of local flowers. Even when pressed and dried, their colours are remarkably vibrant. The yellow one can be brewed into an especially flavourful tea._


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/173764645395/uitlander)

**Chapter 10**

**Chains**

**Monday, January 16, 1826**

* * *

                                                              

* * *

Claire picked up a dinner plate from the counter and submerged it in the tub of warm water, scrubbing.

“Do you know why Jamie and Murtagh weren’t at supper?”

Janna readjusted Cato in her wrap, slung snugly across her chest. “They had business to attend to.”

Claire stood a bit taller, placing her hands on her hips. “Come now. You’re detailed and forthright in everything you say. What’s going on?”

Janna sighed, glancing quickly over her shoulder. Nobody in sight or earshot, here in the kitchen. “Escaped slaves. Two of them will be coming tonight.”

Claire’s brows rose in surprise. “But isn’t that illegal? Isn’t that what got Jamie flogged?”

“He told you about that?” Now Janna’s brows rose, blue eyes wide.

Claire pursed her lips. Janna shook her head. “My brother is extremely private – and yet he chose to tell you.”

“He did.”

Janna dried her dinnerplate, rubbing in large counterclockwise swirls. “He’s so tight-lipped – especially around women. Drives all the neighbor girls mad – they’ve had their eyes set on him since he first sprouted whiskers at fourteen. And he’s refused every single one of them. All types – all ages. None. Mama and Papa are worried.”

As much as she wanted Janna to continue – as much as she thirsted to know more about Jamie – nothing would distract her. “Why do you still help the slaves, when your family has already paid such a terrible price?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do. It’s how we get back at the Uitlanders – how we demonstrate our strength and our independence from them. From our damn stupid covetous neighbors.” She paused, drying her hands on her apron, absently stroking Cato’s dark fuzz. “Papa was an indentured servant, back in Scotland. It’s why he left, see? He couldn’t live life as another man’s property. That’s not a life.”

Claire dried her final dish and leaned against the counter. “How do they get here?”

“We wait until sundown – and then they’re brought here by someone we trust. Someone we’ve worked with for a long time. We give them a place to sleep for a few days, and when it’s safe we pass them along to the next person.”

“The next link in the chain.”

“Precisely. After that – some make it to the open lands and melt back into the tribes. Others make it far to the north, where the English have not yet claimed anything – just a few lonely white farmers, who are half-crazy anyway and wouldn’t spare them a second glance.”

“You grew up doing this?”

Janna nodded. “Yes. We’ve rescued over one hundred people, Claire. Doing the Lord’s work – setting captives free.”

Claire sighed, not wanting to think of her own bonds, and what it would take to be free of them.

–

Long past dark, Claire sat up in bed, reading a book from Brian’s library – Sir Walter Scott’s masterpiece _Rob Roy_. How she wished for the cool mists of the Scottish Highlands, after the baking summer heat of the Cape these past few weeks…

Three soft, quick knocks. “Claire?”

Murtagh’s voice.

Swiftly she crossed the room, wrapped Elin’s spare dressing gown around her shoulders, and opened the door.

Murtagh was waiting, holding a lantern.

“Can ye come wi’ me?”

Claire took half a step back into her bedroom. “What, now?”

“Yes, now. Right now.”

She nodded, moved quickly to pull on her boots and grab her medicine box, and followed Murtagh down the stairs and out of the house.

Outside, they turned right – heading toward the outbuildings.

“Are they here?” she whispered, trying desperately to keep up with Murtagh’s long strides.

“Yes,” he replied curtly. “Move quickly now.”

Three minutes later they stood outside one of the many small but well-kept storage sheds that dotted the farm. Murtagh knocked four times, then twice, and waited.

The door cracked open, light spilling onto the damp grass.

“Come,” Jamie’s voice whispered.

Seconds later they crept through the door, and Claire turned to face two brave yet terrified fugitives. Jamie reached out a calming hand.

“Claire – may I introduce Ulysses and Phaedre? This is Miss Claire Beauchamp, from England. She’s been staying with us.”

The man was easily the tallest and stoutest Claire had ever seen; the muscles in his thick neck corded in distress. The woman, while much smaller, stared at Claire, challenging. Quickly her eyes darted to the most pressing matter at hand.

“What happened to your arm?”

Ulysses held his left arm closer to his chest. Blood bloomed dark and red on the sleeve of his shirt.

“Cut it when I was hiding in the wagon,” he muttered, voice rich and deep.

“I can fix that for you.” Claire handed her medicine box to Jamie, who held it steady as she opened the lid and rummaged for her needle and thread.

“She’s a rare fine healer,” Murtagh encouraged. “Ye ken weel that ye willna leave here for a few days yet – long enough for yer arm to mend.”

Now Phaedre turned to face her companion. “You can’t risk having your arm like that once we begin the next leg of our journey. She seems to know what she is doing.”

With his good hand, Ulysses briefly reached out to tenderly cup Phaedre’s cheek. Then turned to Claire, nodding slightly.

“What do I need to do?”

–

“Thank you for tending them last night.”

Startled, Claire whirled to see Brian Fraser standing in the doorway of the small room the family had so graciously let her use as a makeshift surgery.

“Oh! You’re most welcome.”

Brian stepped closer, watching her grind Jesuit bark into a fine powder. “I’m glad our wee Christmas gift has been so useful for you.”

“I know I’ve said this before, but thank you.” Claire scraped the sides of the mortar. “It’s one of the most thoughtful gifts anyone has ever given me.”

“It’s nae bother, lass. We are so very glad to have ye here. All of us.”

She paused to look up at him. He was nothing like Uncle Lamb – but he was the closest she had ever come to having a father. This man worked so hard, and had – and would continue to – sacrifice for the sake of his family. For the sake of those he loves.

“How did you find out about them?”

Brian sighed, suddenly looking ten years older. “Someone I know, down in the town. Ulysses and Phaedre – they are in love, and she is pregnant. They can never have the life together that they want – that they deserve. That’s where we come in.”

Claire swallowed back her surprise. “I – I couldn’t tell last night, but it was so dark…”

“Yes, weel. They want to be well on their way by the time she truly starts to show. I’m thinking they stay with us for about a week – allow his arm to heal, of course. And then Fergus will be here to pick them up.”

“Who is – ”

“GRANDDA!”

Feet thundered down the hallway – Rupert, then Angus close behind.

“What is it, lads? What’s wrong?”

“Redcoats,” one boy panted. “Coming up the drive.”

“Oh, Christ,” Brian breathed. “Rupert! Find Janna. Get her and all the bairns upstairs. Locked in my bedroom. Locked! Do ye hear me!”

He tore down the hallway. “Angus! Get me yer Da, and Jamie, and Jan. Now!”

The twins scattered.

“Elin!” Brian screamed. “ _Mo chridhe_! Elin!”

The front door slammed.

Alone in a suddenly silent house, all Claire could do was step slowly toward the door – heedless of Janna bursting in from the back, holding Cato and a sobbing Greet on her shoulders, Rupert dragging Young Jamie up the stairs behind his mother.

Open the door. To see Brian, Elin, Jan, Murtagh, Suzette, Angus, and Jamie – a silent, solid wall – standing side-by-side in front of the house.

She counted ten soldiers. One was clearly in charge; twenty paces from the house, he dismounted, scarlet coat blazing in the midday sun. Walked toward Brian and doffed his cap, his dark hair matted with sweat.

Quietly Claire stepped beside Jamie – anchoring the wall. He didn’t turn to look at her, but his hand settled – with the barest of touches – on the small of her back.

A good thing – for his body sharply tensed, fingertips digging into the soft muslin of her dress.

“Mr. Fraser,” the soldier with Frank’s face sneered. “What a delight to see you again.”

“Captain,” Brian nodded. “To what do we owe the pleasure today?”

The soldier slit his eyes, glancing up and down the wall of Fraser/van der Meers – until they settled on Jamie.

He stepped closer.

“Jamie.”

Jamie nodded in the barest of acknowledgements.

Then Claire’s eyes watched the man’s lips twist into a cruel smile.

“This must be Claire!” he exclaimed. “The woman who has bewitched both of my brothers.”

He held out a hand – but she dug hers deeper into her pockets. Fingers curling around the lion-tooth knife.

“Come now,” he chided. “That’s no way for a sister to treat a brother.”

“With respect, Captain – I am still a Beauchamp, and as such have no ties to you.”

Jamie bristled beside her.

Randall’s head tilted, appraising. “I can see what they find in you – lovely figure, pretty face. Pity about that hair, but no matter.”

“Why have you come?” Jamie snapped.

“If you must know – we are in pursuit of two escaped slaves. Abandoned their rightful owners and homes last night, destination unknown.”

“What does that have to do wi’ us?”

“I believe it has everything to do with you, on account of past behavior.” Randall idly brushed road dust from the folds of his coat. “You of all people will know what I’m referring to.”

“Ye’re wasting yer time,” Murtagh interjected. “There’s nobody here, save us family, and the employees we rely on to run this farm.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, sir. Which is why I’ve ordered my men to search all the outbuildings. Immediately.”

“Fine by me,” Brian shrugged, one arm wrapped protectively around Elin. “Spend all the time ye like. They’re not here.”

Randall bowed, then returned his hat to his head.

“Thank you, Mr. Fraser. Then our visit here will be quick.”

He turned to his men, barked out an order, and marched off to the barn.

Murtagh and Elin peeled away to follow him; Brian gently pushed Angus toward the house, before heading off in the opposite direction with Suzette.

Jan turned to Jamie and Claire. The men exchanged heated words in Cape Dutch before Jan hobbled toward the staff quarters.

“Where are they, Jamie?”

He started – so deep in thought and rage, he must have forgotten she was there.

“In a root cellar in the barn, beneath the donkey’s stall. Clarence is ill-mannered, especially with redcoats. They won’t bother him.”

“And they’ll be all right?”

“Yes. They’ve enough food and water to last three days. A vent for air circulation. It’s not comfortable, but they’re safe.”

Boldly she stepped closer, taking one of his hands between hers.

His sharp intake of breath surprised her.

“Are you all right?” she asked quietly, searching his eyes.

“Randall doesn’t bother me – I won’t let him.” He curled his fingers around hers. “ _Nebhongo_. You brave thing.”

“What does that mean? That word – you said it to me at Christmas.”

“ _Nebhongo_ ,” he smiled. “It’s Xhosa. The word for lioness.”

Now her cheeks flamed from more than the sun.

“You’ve the devil’s own courage. So brave.”

“If you say so.”

He squeezed her hands. “I know so. Now. After the barn, they’ll want to check the tower – the Toring. Let’s go there, wait for them.”

It wasn’t until they arrived at the base of the old tower ten minutes later that Claire realized she had held Jamie’s hand the whole way.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/173987372323/uitlander)

**Chapter 11**

**Chaos**

**Wednesday, January 18, 1826**

* * *

                                                                 

* * *

Deep in the night, Claire woke to the thump of feet in the corridor.

By reflex she reached beneath her pillow for her lion tooth knife – but then relaxed at the sound of Brian and Jamie’s voices rising in the curious cadence of Cape Dutch, answered by the high-pitched voice of a boy she did not know.

Elin gasped in the hallway. Brian’s voice called out for her – and she responded in the same language as Jamie’s voice trailed the boy’s out of the house.

Claire soundlessly slipped out of bed and opened her door. Fifteen paces to the top of the staircase, beside Elin; the downstairs entry hall was empty.

The flame of the night lantern on the wall sputtered.

“It’s Alex,” Elin whispered.

Claire gripped the bannister, knees weak.

“He’s very, very sick. He’s at the Kruger farm, ten miles from here. One of the Xhosa brought him all the way from the mission. Three days, carrying him on his back.”

Claire’s mouth felt full of sand.

Elin rubbed her tired eyes. “That was the middle Kruger boy – Johannes. He’s taking Brian back to the farm – you should go, too. Jamie and Murtagh are going into the town, to fetch Frank.”

Claire choked around her words. “Why?”

Elin reached for Claire’s arm, rubbing gently. “He has no time.”

Ten minutes later Claire and Suzette took their horses from a yawning groom and followed Johannes Kruger and Brian Fraser into the shapeless dark, cicadas screaming all around them.

–

“Hold the lantern a bit closer, please.”

Suzette did as requested, bathing Alex’s parched, thin face in light. Claire pushed back the limp, matted hair from his lined forehead, gently palpating his neck.

“Pulse very faint,” she muttered. “Significant swelling of the lymph nodes. Skin paper-dry.”

The man who had heroically brought Alex to the sprawling Kruger farm – his Christian name was Joseph – rapidly conveyed information to Brian. It was a strange, rhythmic language, oddly interspersed with clicks.

The small knot of onlookers in the doorway – the six Kruger children, together with a handful of house slaves – gasped.

“He says that Alex didn’t stop…shitting for two days. But he has passed nothing – not even water – since yesterday.”

“It’s cholera,” Claire sighed. “A very advanced case. Have others at the Mission had similar symptoms?”

Brian turned to Joseph, who nodded.

Beneath her hands, Alex wheezed for breath.

“How long has he been unconscious?”

“Since nightfall, he said.”

“It’s almost dawn,” Johanna Kruger, matriarch of the farm, piped up from the other side of the bed, setting out a basin of boiling water and clean cloth. “Here are the supplies you asked for.”

“Thank you – now, I’ll need everyone to leave. Cholera is extremely contagious – especially for the children.”

The crowd didn’t need to hear that twice – and dispersed within seconds, footsteps echoing through the old house.

“Is it dangerous, Claire? Truly?” Suzette set the lantern on the side table, holding her hands far away from her body.

“Only if we touch any of his bodily fluids – and he doesn’t have any left now.”

Suddenly feeling very tired, Claire sank onto the bed beside Alex. Watching his painfully thin frame fight for every breath.

Then looked up at Brian with tears in her eyes.

“It’s too advanced. I – I can’t do anything for him.”

Silence – thick and sad – settled on the room, just as the horizon began to lighten.

Suzette dipped a cloth in the basin, rolled it, and set it on Alex’s forehead.

All they could do now was wait.

–

“Can he hear me?”

Frank crouched at the side of the bed, eye level with his younger brother.

“I’m not sure,” Claire sighed. “But it can’t hurt for you to talk to him.”

Mid-morning sunlight cheerily streamed through the windows, illuminating thousands of dust motes at the foot of the bed. Across the room, Murtagh settled an arm around Suzette – and Mr. Kruger clutched his Bible – and Brian and Jamie leaned against the wall, struggling to stay upright.

“I don’t know what to say,” Frank muttered. “It’s all foolish.”

“It’s not – I assure you, Professor Randall.” Brian yawned, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Ye willnae have cause to regret later anything ye say to him now.”

“Do you want us to leave you alone?” Claire asked gently.

Frank shook his head. “No – no, I’ll be perfectly fine. It’s just – how do you say goodbye?”

“In whatever way you see fit,” Jamie suggested. “That’s what Da said to me, when my brother Willie was dying.”

A guinea fowl clumsily landed on the windowsill, pecking softly against the glass. The silence in the room stretched long and awkward.

“Do you want me to say a prayer?” Mr. Kruger suggested kindly, thumbing through his battered Dutch-language Bible. “Your brother was – is – a holy man.”

“That would be lovely – thank you,” Frank rasped, lost.

The deep, sonorous tones of Mr. Kruger’s voice, hesitating just the slightest bit as he translated the Dutch verses into English, settled around Claire. Fog in her mind, in her ears, in her eyes. Placing her outside of herself – outside of this room, this moment. This life.

Filling her with nothing as Mr. Kruger’s voice continued to read – and Alex’s chest ceased to rise and fall – and Frank sobbed loudly in anguish.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/174208296058/uitlander)

**Chapter 12**

**Aftermath**

**Wednesday, January 18, 1826**

* * *

 

                                                        

* * *

Claire poured herself three more fingers of whisky, thumping the bottle – one of Brian’s best – loudly on the flagstones of the back porch.

Feeling empty of everything.

Trying to forget the image of Alex’s small, sheet-covered body in the Krugers’ garden shed, awaiting the carriage sent by his brother Jack. How it had taken only Jamie’s strength to gently lift it into the back, settled snugly between bales of hay, on its final journey to the town, where it would be prepared for burial the following day.

Trying to forget the gnawing guilt in her belly for the entire ride back to Noord Toring, telling her that she should feel sad.

Trying to forget the look on Frank’s face when he had cornered her in the kitchen, right after returning to the Fraser farm, and asked for her hand in marriage. Remembering how her palm print seemed to take forever to fade from Frank’s cheek.

Drowning in the sunset echoing off the peaceful mountains, and the herd of antelope gracefully crossing the far pasture, and the burn of the whisky she’d stolen from the pantry.

Boots thudded before her – then Jamie’s face swam into view, crouching down beside her in the corner.

“Up you get,” he said softly, arms suddenly anchored under her armpits, drawing her upright, gently lifting her into his arms.

She shrank against him, sobbing.

He carried her into the house, up the stairs, and into her room – where Elin and Janna waited. She felt their hands unbuttoning her dress – and then it all went black.

–

Sometime later she woke, coughing, head throbbing.

“Here.” A mug of cool water was pressed into her hands, together with a fresh, yeasty bread roll. Greedily she partook.

“Thank you,” she croaked.

“You’re welcome,” Jamie smiled. “It’s good to see you awake.”

She finished the mug and handed it back to him, chewing on the roll. “What time is it?”

He shrugged, face shadowed in the candlelight. “Late.”

“I’m sorry.” She set the half-eaten roll on her bedside table, shifting in the bed so that he could sit at the foot.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. Alex is dead.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I know.”

“Frank said the funeral will be tomorrow afternoon – Jack is arranging the whole thing.”

“I don’t care. I won’t go, if he’s there.”

“Jack? I understand – I’d do the same thing.”

“No,” she sighed. “Frank.”

“Frank?”

She sat up a bit straighter against the headboard. “I can’t see him.”

“What happened? He left rather quickly, right after we returned.”

Claire twisted her fingers together, on top of the beautiful quilt Elin’s mother had made. “He asked me to marry him.”

Even in the half-darkness of the room, she could see him freeze.

“He _what_?”

“He asked me to marry him. Said he’d fallen in love with me on the ship, and that he could provide for me in a way Alex never could. That I’d be a respected society lady, and that I wouldn’t be wasted out in the wilderness.”

“Claire,” Jamie gaped. “I – ”

“So I told him to go to hell, and then I slapped him. And then I found your father’s whisky.”

Then Jamie laughed – a true, proper laugh.

“What an idiot.”

“I know! I – I never even thought about him that way. So presumptuous.”

She rubbed her eyes, breathing deep against the headache that seeped between her temples. Jamie didn’t say anything either – and suddenly she realized that they were alone in her bedroom, and she was in her shift, and she was no longer promised to another man.

“Claire,” he whispered, voice low and deep and thick.

When she looked up at him she watched his heart break.

“What is it? Are you all right?”

“Alex is dead. Frank will be out of your life, after tomorrow. What are you going to do?”

“Figure out what to do next, I suppose.”

He stared down at the quilt. It was a long time before he spoke.

“This place isn’t safe for you, Claire.”

She tilted her head. “Tell me something that I don’t know, Jamie.”

“I mean it.” He scooted a bit closer to her on the mattress – careful to not touch her blanket-covered legs. “Wild animals. Cruel redcoats. Disease. Slavery. Violence.”

“So?”

“So?!” he spat. “SO? There’s _nothing_ for you here, Claire – nothing, save violence and danger.”

Defiantly raising her chin, Claire asked the only question that truly mattered.

“Is there _really_ nothing for me here, Jamie?”

He set his own jaw, then – the muscles in his face quivering with feeling. “You’d be much safer back in England – where none of this world can touch you. Where you can practice your healing without worry.”

“You mean, where Uncle Lamb can wrap me in cotton-wool and protect me from the world? No, thank you – I’ve done that. It’s boring.”

“At least it would be safe!” he hissed. “Name one good thing that has come from your time here.”

“That’s besides the point – and you know it.” She threw back the bedclothes and snapped to her feet. For a moment the room spun – but then she grew steady. “How _dare_ you tell me what to do. How _dare_ you turn into yet another man who tries to control me, and my life.”

“I’m trying to give you the control back in your life, damn you!” he hissed. “Can you not see that?”

“You mean the life that I don’t want? The life I had to flee from – the life where marrying a boy-faced vicar I’d never met, thousands of miles from home in the fucking Cape Colony, was the only option I had?” Claire gasped for breath, watching Jamie pull back a bit in shock. “That’s what I am! I killed someone – did you know that? The coroner couldn’t trust my word in the matter because I’m a fucking woman. A woman! Why am I cursed to be a woman?”

Then she sat down hard – completely deflated. Biting back tears. Rigid with rage.

“I never loved Alex Randall – and God help me, I never would. But I’d take marriage to him in the middle of bloody fucking nowhere, over going back to England.”

She curled in on herself, sobbing tired, hot, angry tears.

And then Jamie was there – holding her, soothing her, pressing her sticky face against his sunburned neck. Murmuring Cape Dutch into her ear. Stroking her hair.

When the morning came, she wondered how much of it had been a dream.

But she rose with a clear mind and heart. Brushed her hair. Washed her face. Put on a bright dress.

Carefully crept downstairs to take her place at the breakfast table – in between Jan and Suzette, and across from Jamie – right in time for the blessing.

After Elin passed the bread basket, and Janna served the eggs, Claire stood.

“Everyone – I have some news.”

Eleven faces turned toward her. She faced Jamie.

“Jamie and I were talking last night.”

His face flushed – his mouth opened in protest –

“We are to be married.”

For the rest of her life, she remembered the sheer bliss on his face.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/174433456415/uitlander)

**Chapter 13**

**Navigation**

**Thursday, January 19, 1826**

* * *

                                                                            

* * *

“Here – Mistress Crook made this for you.”

Jamie briefly glanced up at Claire, before returning his gaze to the mountains. He didn’t say anything, but shifted over on the rattan settee to make room for her.

She settled into the other corner, placing the plate of toast and eggs in between them on the linen cushion.

The sounds of breakfast – the hum of Cape Dutch conversation, the clink of silverware on the rough, simple everyday pottery plates which Elin had thrown and baked herself – drifted through the open front door of the house, curtains gently swaying with the breeze.

For a long time Claire sat beside Jamie, sharing the silence. Praying she hadn’t just made the worst mistake of her life.

“I’m not going to apologize,” she finally whispered, smoothing the creases from her dress, crossing her bare feet at the ankles.

“Are you mad, woman?”

Still he didn’t turn to look at her, but gratefully reached for the cold breakfast he had so unceremoniously left behind, when he had scraped his chair back from the breakfast table and left the dining room – and his family – without a single word.

“Last night you said that you wanted to give me back the control in my life. This is me taking it back.” She sighed, listening to him chew. “Or did I dream that up?”

“You didn’t. But you might have considered bringing it up to me privately first, Claire.”

Still watching him – his profile, strong against the morning sun – she steadied herself. “I didn’t know how else to do it. To avoid you pushing me away.”

He set down his plate, wiped his fingers on the knees of his breeches, and finally turned to look at her, eyes creased into triangles. “I didn’t know you had such a flair for the dramatic.”

“I heard what you said last night – I really did. But I can’t go back to England. And I can’t picture myself anywhere but here – with your family.”

“I heard what you said, too.” He set the plate down on the ground and settled one knee on the cushion between them. Reached for her hands. “And I meant it – this place is dangerous for you.”

She twined her fingers through his, savoring the rough bumps of his knuckles, the wiry hair on his wrists. “Didn’t you vow to protect me?”

He swallowed. “I did. I meant that, too. But Claire – you’ve still got time to leave. You haven’t been here long – there’s no shame in going back.”

“But I don’t want to go back, Jamie. I’m too involved here, now. Forget the Randalls – I…” Here she faltered, and dropped her gaze to the magic of their hands together. But he squeezed her hands, infusing her with courage.

“Go on,” he whispered. “I’m here.”

She nodded quickly, still focusing on their hands. “I feel as if I’m part of this family already. Not because I’ve been staying here as a guest…I helped deliver Cato. I treated Ulysses and Phaedre. I was here when Jack Randall arrived. I’ve learned how to cook from Suzette.” She sighed. “I’m already in too deep – I can’t leave any of you.”

Claire pursed her lips, and finally raised her eyes to meet Jamie’s.

Patient. Understanding.

Full of so much admiration that her heart spoke before her brain could process the words.

“I can’t leave _you_ , Jamie. You see me for who I am. And it isn’t usual – what it is between us. Why would I ever want to give that up?”

He dropped one of her hands to trace his fingertips over her cheek – her nose – her eyebrows – her lips…

“I want…” he choked. “I would…very much like to kiss you, Claire.” His hand settled on her neck, tremors dancing through her veins. “May I?”

Once again, giving her control. Giving her the gift of choice.

She knew that with a word, she would change her – their – future.

“Yes,” she breathed.

It took an eternity for his lips to find hers – and then time stopped.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/174451365446/uitlander-an-interlude)

For @thelallybrochlibrary Scavenger Hunt **24\. Write a No Humans AU (a piece of Outlander fan fiction that does not contain any humans)**

This is an interlude from my ongoing story [Uitlander](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/tagged/uitlander)…I wouldn’t have had the inspiration, but thanks to vocal readers (including [@abbydebeaupreposts](https://tmblr.co/mEo7fXPaut9Wvi5da6W45_w) [@gastairfad](https://tmblr.co/mE9LDqb1DrwS822_tI21_FQ) [@cantrixgrisea](https://tmblr.co/mcKQq4wLfd6MxlA_6F0UqGA) among others) and their suggestion for one (gory) way for the doomed Alex Randall to meet his end…I just had to…

Enjoy!

—–

_—–  
_

_I think something is going on down at the house_.

Black huffed and skeptically licked at the healing would on his front left paw. _Come on. How would you know that? It’s been years since you were brave enough to even go near the house. Ever since the Red One killed Old White._

Sorrel huffed. _I was there, you know. The Red One looked right at me, but chose Old White. He showed me mercy. And ever since then, I’ve had a connection with him. You wouldn’t be able to understand._

Two guineafowl darted across the grasses, feathers almost iridescent in the twilight. Black shifted a bit, not willing to chase those foolish birds and give up his perfect perch here at the top of the pasture. The mountains always looked so beautiful at this time of day…memories of when he was a cub, and there were fewer people to take antelopes and cause problems.

_You’ve always been so superstitious. You haven’t seen him since then.  
_

_I have. Just a few days ago, he took a walk up to the far pasture. One of the sheep must have gotten lost_.

Black sighed, his thick, dark mane ruffling a bit in the breeze. _Why didn’t you find it and bring it back for the cubs?_

Sorrel flicked his tail, shooing a cloud of gnats. _The Red One wasn’t alone – he was with a female_.

_Really?_ Now Black was truly interested. Word had spread across Noord Toring and the neighboring estates that the young heir – the Red One – had not yet taken a mate. The pride had lived in relative harmony on the estate for generations; as the alpha, it was Black’s responsibility to ensure the future survival of his mates and cubs. Not just to provide meat from hunts – but to ensure that the estate would be safe when they grew and found mates of their own.

_Maybe you’re right_ , Black grudgingly admitted. _Maybe he’s found a mate. And maybe that’s why you’ve felt the energy from the house_.

Sorrel dug his paw into the grass, watching the stalks bend. _He may have killed Old White – but it was honorable. And he and this female, they will continue to honor us here_.

Finally the sun sank below the horizon; darkness would come soon. Black rose, shook off the dust, and nudged Sorrel’s side with his nose and whiskers.

_Then I apologize for doubting you. You have my permission to get closer to the house tomorrow, if you wish._

Now Sorrel rose too. _Perhaps. I’ll see how it is in the morning. And don’t worry – I remember if I see anybody in red, I will stay hiding._

_Good._ Black began the trot back to the clump of acacias under which his mates and the dozen or so cubs had sheltered. _No need to draw attention, or stir up trouble. Sun knows we’ve had enough these past few seasons._


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/174659864253/uitlander)

**Chapter 14**

**Preparations**

**Thursday, January 26, 1826**

* * *

                                                                  

* * *

Time passed.

The Fraser/van der Meers – and Claire soon-to-be Fraser – attended Alex Randall’s funeral, the entire family packing into two wagons to make the journey into town. Claire sat up front, beside Jamie; she never let go of his hand during the entire graveside ceremony, not caring that Frank and Jack Randall stared at her the whole time. The funeral was thoughtful, quiet – just like Alex himself – and Governor Lord John Grey, tall, fair-haired, resplendent in his navy blue coat, had delivered remarks, speaking kind words about a man he had never met.

Over the next few days, she shifted her responsibilities at the farm to spend as much time with Jamie as possible, helping him complete his chores. Taking him on her rounds of the workers’ cottages, to check on their well-being. Getting to know each other.

As they mucked out the horse stalls in the barn, he told her about his brothers – Willie and Rab – who had died when he was younger; she told him about the parents she could barely remember. As she helped him stir the fermenting mash in the whisky cave, he told her about the proud history of Noord Toring, the lessons his parents has instilled in him as the heir to the farm, his dreams of planting grape vines to grow wine; he listened raptly to her tales of attending classes at Oxford (and receiving the highest marks from her teachers), and the mysterious French apothecary who had taken her as an apprentice when she was seventeen, and her dreams of publishing a book about botany. As he went over the ledgers in his father’s study, he patiently reviewed the different ways the estate made its income, and welcomed her ideas about selling jams and dried goods in the town to generate extra cash.

And of course, they enjoyed every single stolen kiss (in the kitchen, in her still room) – and burning touch (in the garden shed, in the whisky cave) – and tender caress (in the hallway, bidding a sweet good night).

The Catholic priest – the only one in the entire Cape Colony – would come here to Noord Toring for the wedding. No matter that the Fraser/van der Meers were of the Dutch Reformed tradition; Claire was not, and they would not ask her to convert (“God is God,” Brian had shrugged). The ceremony would take place in the parlor – big enough to fit Brian and Elin and Murtagh and Suzette and Jan and Janna and all the children, and of course all the servants and farm hands who had come to love Claire and respect her talents. Perhaps twenty-five people in total. No Randalls would attend.

Suzette and Janna and Elin had proclaimed that Claire needed a new dress – and she had happily complied, standing patiently for what seemed like dozens of measurements and fittings. She had been more than pleased with the outcome – and knew Jamie would be as well.

One week after their engagement – and one week prior to their wedding – Jamie and Claire settled together after dinner on the settee on the front porch. She read aloud from _Rob Roy_ , Jamie’s head in her lap, his long limbs dangling off the rattan. He chuckled at her poor attempts at a Scottish accent. She smiled, tousling his hair, shivering when he kissed the inside of her wrist.

Chapter done, she closed the book and watched the clouds sail over the mountains, glowing orange and gold with the sunset.

“You’re sure you’re fine that we live in my room? It’s not that big – ”

“I know it’s important to remain in the house, for now. Jan and Janna manage it, and I don’t see why we can’t.”

“Yes, but they’ll likely move to their own cabin, now that they’ve got the three children.” Jamie idly drummed his fingers on the back of the settee. “I was thinking – for the days after we marry, we could stay at one of the far cabins. I’d have to clean it out, of course – but am I correct in thinking that you would want the space?”

She bent to kiss his forehead. “Yes – for a few days. Though I’ll be happy to return home, too.”

“Mmm.” He tilted his chin up and captured her lips in a long, slow, thoughtful kiss.

Ulysses’ arm had healed sufficiently over the past week, and he and Phaedre had quietly started the next leg of their journey to freedom two nights before, when Fergus St. Germain – cousin of Suzette – had arrived for dinner, stayed late, and returned to his farm under cover of darkness, the two fugitives stowed safely beneath bales of hay and sacks of vegetables in the back of his wagon.

Claire had been there to see them off, of course – together with Brian and Elin and Murtagh. She had pressed several bundles of herbs into Phaedre’s hands – meant to soothe any morning sickness, and ease any lingering pain in Ulysses’ joints – and been rewarded by an incredibly grateful hug.

Life at Noord Toring would be anything but dull; Claire had more than demonstrated her willingness to rise to every single challenge she had faced. To be a fully participating member of the family; to be a true partner to Jamie. She was a Fraser already – and would become one in name, in six days time.

She was thrilled – and not a small bit terrified.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/174881942128/uitlander)

**Chapter 15**

**The Wedding**

**Thursday, February 2, 1826**

* * *

                                           

_Credit to the amazingly talented[@outlanderedandoverhere](https://tmblr.co/mSZGih9fXqYRz3vGBSlaN6Q) for this gorgeous sketch of Claire’s dress and bouquet of proteas!!_

* * *

Strange, the things you remember.

The rhythm of Latin vowels rolling off Father Donohue’s Irish tongue.

Janna Fraser van der Meer resplendent in green homespun, smiling, Jan’s long arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders as she provided him a strong, silent support.

The dark blue of Brian Fraser’s best coat, pewter buttons gleaming as the sun slanted through the parlor’s tall windows.

The five proteas – round, red, resplendent – gathered in Claire’s hands as she strode through the door, Jamie tall and proud at her side.

The love pouring from Elin and Brian – arms around each other – basking in their son’s happiness.

The stark white of Jamie’s new shirt against his sunburned throat, swallowing as he stared at her.

Claire’s hair – wild, loose, and free, framing her ecstatic smile.

Jamie waiting beneath the locust tree in front of the house, flanked by Murtagh and Brian.

The flowers Suzette had twined into Greet’s hair.

Claire curtseying to Jamie in her new, soft yellow, beautiful yet practical dress; Jamie bowing to Claire in his breeches and new black coat.

The single ivory bracelet, carved from the tusk of an elephant, he had slipped over her wrist underneath that locust tree; feeling the tremors in each other’s hands had grounded them, fused them, brought them peace.

The tears shining in their eyes as they pledged to love and honor and cherish one another for the rest of their days.

The broad, simple wedding ring he slipped on her finger, forged by the black smith at the Kruger’s farm, who drew from his supply of a strong, silvery metal found in the rocks nearby.

As the ring passed over the bump of her knuckle, to settle perfectly at the base of her finger, Jamie gripped her hand tightly and brought it to his lips for a reverent kiss – not caring about his family or friends or even the priest.

Then Brian stepped forward, holding his dirk and a length of white cloth. He and Jamie had explained the ritual to her – and in turn, to Father Donohue – but it was one thing to hear about, and quite another to experience.

Jamie and Claire held out their wrists – palms facing up – and Brian gently scored the tender skin with the dirk he had brought from Scotland, all those years ago. Gently he pressed their wounds together, bound them with the cloth, and nodded at the priest.

“The blood vow is an ancient Scottish tradition. Passed down in the Frasers for as many generations as we can remember. It’s the same vow that binds Murtagh and Suzette – and Jan and Janna – and my heart Elin and me – and now Jamie and Claire.”

Cool blood flowed between them; Jamie couldn’t tear his eyes from Claire’s.

“Repeat the Gaelic after me,” Brian asked softly.

He spoke – and Jamie and Claire answered, her tongue tripping over the strange consonants, his voice loud and strong and clear.

Then it was over – and finally, finally they shared a kiss.

–

“Why is Murtagh dancing?” Claire giggled at her husband.

“Mmphmm. He only does that when he’s had too much whisky.” Beneath the table, Jamie’s thumb stroked the clotted blood at her wrist, tracing each strong tendon in turn. “And don’t make fun of him – the children love it.”

Across the dooryard – flooded with afternoon sun – Murtagh hopped and swayed, terribly uncoordinated with the drum and fiddle played joyfully by two farm hands. Young Jamie and Greet roared with laughter, bouncing up and down, Greet’s tiny white dress fluttering in the breeze.

Across the table, Suzette sighed and shook her head, smiling. Rupert and Angus, meanwhile, looked anywhere but at their father.

It had been a grand wedding feast, paling in comparison to the abundance they had so recently shared at Christmas. In true Cape fashion, they had slow-barbequed an entire pig, Brian and Jan carefully tending the pit over a two-day period. Suzette and Janna and Elin and Mistress Crook had outdone themselves, baking meat pies and bread and roasting potatoes and turnips, garnished with butter and herbs. Fruit and cheese. Wine. And, of course, whisky.

“Angus! Rupert!” Murtagh called. “Come on, ye lazy bums! Get up here and celebrate! Jamie’s _marrit_!!”

The twins promptly sank completely underneath the table, to the laughter of their grandparents.

Jamie turned to his wife and kissed her smile.

Overflowing with joy.

“Let’s go,” she whispered against his lips.

He stood, pulled back her chair, and clinked a spare knife against his whisky tumbler.

Immediately the conversation and music ceased.

“We’re off,” he said proudly, taking Claire’s hand. “Thank you all for a beautiful afternoon.”

“Thank you, ever so much,” Claire added, tears suddenly brimming. “Thank you – thank you for taking me in. For giving me a home, and a family.”

Jamie squeezed her hand tight; Elin rose to envelop her new daughter in a deep hug.

When she pulled back, Murtagh lewdly whistled.

“Make sure Jamie does his duty by ye, lass! I dinna want to see ye here for at least a week!”

“Sshh!” Suzette hissed.

“Dinna fash yerself,” Claire replied, perfectly imitating Murtagh’s Highland burr. “I’ll take guid care of the laddie.”

Murtagh, gobsmacked, gaped.

Brian chuckled and rose. “Ye’re a fine addition to the family, Claire – holding yer own wi’ the Frasers already. Here – let me help ye wi’ yer things.”

Ten minutes later they were on their way – to the applause and hoots and cheers of the entire family. Jamie dipped Claire in an exaggerated kiss, and she realized he tasted even better when he smiled.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/175106137535/uitlander)

**Chapter 16**

**The Cottage**

**Thursday, February 2, 1826**

* * *

                                                             

* * *

Just over an hour later, the cottage emerged from behind a spray of tall rooibos bushes. Tucked into the far northwest corner of the Noord Toring estate, it had been built at least a hundred years before as a place for temporary or occasional shelter.

“We’ve six or so cottages scattered around the perimeter,” Jamie had explained during their walk through the fields, shifting his sack of provisions. “Back when the farm was mostly open pasture, it was common to move with the herd; if they ended up here, why sleep on the ground when you can have a roof over your head?”

Claire tugged her own sack of provisions to sit higher on her shoulder, gripping Jamie’s hand. “When was the last time you were up here?”

“Oh – years ago. Since Papa converted this part of the farm to grow potatoes, when I was small, we only come up here to plant and harvest.”

The cottage’s whitewashed walls glowed in the sunset, thick thatched roof curling over the eaves. Jamie set down his sack, took Claire’s and placed it beside his own, and unceremoniously hoisted her into his arms.

“Jamie!” she gasped, laughing. “What are you – ”

“Carrying you over the threshold,” he smiled, turning to the side to gently push open the door. “I _am_ traditional – in case you hadn’t noticed.”

She rolled her eyes and couldn’t help but kiss him as he set her down in the small, yet cozy room.

It was spare, simple – yet beautiful and comfortable. A fireplace in one corner; a large bed tucked up against the only window; two chairs, a table, and a battered cabinet to hold dishes and spare blankets. Everything was old, but had clearly been cleaned recently: the linens on the bed were fresh, the floors and chairs swept. A set of kudu horns twirled above the doorway.

All they really needed.

She turned to face Jamie – and awkwardness suddenly bloomed.

“I’ll get our things,” he mumbled, and was gone.

Claire took a shallow breath, balling her hands into fists. Crossed the room to the cabinet, found half a dozen thick candles, and set one on a cheery blue dish.

Jamie reappeared to briefly drop their bags beside the table, then stepped back to securely – loudly – bolt the door – then returned to find his wife rummaging in her sack.

“Found it!” she exclaimed, proudly producing her box of matches, turning to the table to strike a flame into existence.

When she turned toward him – face bathed in candlelight – his heart just about burst.

“Claire,” he croaked. “Claire – I hope you know, we don’t have to rush into anything. We – we have a few days.”

“It’s all right, Jamie,” she teased. “I know you won’t force yourself on me.”

“Never,” he breathed. Intense.

Now she smiled, and sat on the bed, extending an inviting hand. “Come here.”

And he did – sitting at least three feet away. Her smile widened.

“Let’s hold hands – keep our connection.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice – sliding over, tangling his hands with hers. Tension ebbed.

“See? It’s easier when we touch, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he whispered. “It’s simpler.”

“It’s all simple, Jamie. There’s nothing complicated about this. There’s no need to rush. Why don’t you tell me about your family?”

That garnered a smile – and his eyes met hers, sparkling.

“How many generations back?”

–

“Now – you _must_ tell me something I’ve been absolutely _dying_ to know since I arrived.”

Jamie had produced the bottle of whisky about an hour before; _Christ_ his bride could drink.

He leaned down to peck her smoky lips. “And what’s that, may I ask?”

She rubbed her nose against his – playful. Settled her bum a bit deeper on his lap.

He flooded his mind with images of sheep manure and rotting potatoes. Praying that she didn’t feel what his trousers were struggling to hide.

She laughed – deep and throaty and beautiful. “Why do you all pronounce the J in Jamie, but not in Janna?”

His lips curled, chest bursting with love for this woman.

“Are you laughing at me?” she mock-pouted.

“I most certainly am!” he roared, bravely diving into the heaven of her neck – trailing his lips down to her collarbones, then the newly liberated skin he had exposed by unhooking the top three buttons of her dress, thirty minutes before.

Her hands dug into the hair at the base of his neck. Pulling him closer.

“We’re a complicated family, _Nebhongo_ ,” he breathed against her exquisitely soft breasts, kissing the top of one, then the other. Tasting her racing heartbeat.

Then pulled back – to see his wife watching him, eyes wide, stone cold sober.

“Do you think…” she whispered. “That is – would you mind if…”

“Yes,” he whispered back. “And no. No, I won’t mind.” He swallowed, framing her beautiful face between his hands. Wishing the skin of his palms was as soft as her cheeks. “As long as _you_ don’t mind that your husband is a completely terrified novice.”

“That’s good.” She raised up her chin just the slightest amount. Brave. Strong. Confident. “As long as _you_ don’t mind that your wife is as well. Guess that means we’ll have to learn together.”

She pushed his hands to the front of her dress.

“What a terrible chore,” he smiled, unhooking more buttons.

“Indeed,” she agreed, smoothing back his hair.

–

Somewhere deep in the night, the candle started to sputter. Jamie moved to get up, but Claire lay a gentle hand on his warm, smooth thigh.

“Leave it,” she whispered. “I don’t mind being in the dark with you.”

He shifted closer to her on the mattress, tucking the wool blanket tighter around her bare shoulders. Pressing her naked body all along the length of his own naked body. Stroking her temple, inches away on the pillow they shared.

“I’m sorry about that first time,” he murmured. Not caring that her hand lazily explored the twisted scars of his back, her wedding ring cool against the dead skin. “I should have done more for you.”

“You do so much for me already.” Now she lay her palm flat against his back, drawing him closer. “It’s normal. It doesn’t have to be perfect every time.”

“For someone who bled that first time, you know a lot about what passes between a man and a woman,” he teased.

“I took medical classes at Oxford. I’ve treated dozens of patients – both here and there. I understand how the body reacts.” She smiled. “And I _also_ had a _very long_ chat with Janna and Suzette. I asked them a lot of very direct questions.”

“Did you?” he smiled. “Learn anything interesting?”

“That’s for me to know – and you to find out.” She tilted up her chin, and he kissed her and kissed her and kissed her.

The candle sputtered one final time, and then died, casting the room into darkness. Only the stars, shining thousands of miles outside their window, cast a faint glow on the single large room.

“I had a long talk with Papa, last night.” He drew in a deep breath, then released it just as slowly. “I asked him for advice. I know the…the _mechanics_ of course, growing up on a farm. But not what to do, to…”

“Sshh,” she soothed, lips settled against his forehead. “Thank you for doing that. It honors me that you did.” She kissed his eyebrows, one, then another. “And you must have heeded his advice…those other times, Jamie, I – ”

“You have my Mama to thank for that,” he smiled. “She woke me this morning – and it must have been on my mind, because before she could tell me that breakfast was almost ready, I asked her how a man can best please a woman.”

Claire pulled back a bit, hands skimming Jamie’s bold features in the darkness. “What did she tell you?”

Her fingers traced his smile. “That’s for me to know, Claire,” he replied, gently rolling them so that she straddled him, his hands anchored on her hips, thumb dipping into her navel, “and _you_ to find out.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/175572379401/uitlander)

**Chapter 17**

**Joy**

**Friday, February 3, 1826**

* * *

                                                                          

* * *

“How does a man ever leave a woman’s bed, knowing the kind of magic they can create?”

Warmth flushed Claire’s cheeks, and she burrowed closer into the curve of Jamie’s shoulder, tangling their legs beneath the blanket, watching the sunlight strike the wiry hairs on his forearm.

“Maybe not everyone can make this kind of magic, Jamie.”

“Perhaps. That’s the only way I can make sense of it.” He kissed her forehead. “You look so beautiful in the sunlight. Crowned with light. A white dove.”

“I had no idea you were so poetic,” she teased, secretly pleased.

“It’s the truth.” He pulled back, sat up, gently laid her on the mattress.

Alarmed, she raised a calming hand. “I was only teasing, Jamie…please don’t – ”

“Ach, don’t worry.” He swung his long limbs over the side of the bed and stood, crossing the room to where they had left their sacks the night before. “I’m ravenous.”

“Mmm. So am I,” she murmured, watching – enjoying – her new husband root about, clad in nothing but sunlight.

“Here!”

She raised her hand just in time to catch a hunk of Mistress Crook’s hearty bread, then two apples in quick succession. In a flash Jamie was beside her, cradling a wheel of cheese and a knife. He tore the bread, skinned the apple, and hacked off a bit of cheese – then fed them to her, one by one, piece by delicious piece.

“My parents have a romantic streak,” he replied after a while, biting a chunk of apple before offering it to Claire. “Murtagh teases them that that’s why they ran off. But at least it accounts for their love of poetry. Janna and I grew up learning sonnets and odes and all manner of verses. In both English and Dutch, of course.”

Claire swallowed a mouthful of cheese. “And you’re like your father in that you have a pet name for your wife.”

Jamie met her eyes, surprised. “You noticed?”

She rolled her eyes. “How could I not? He’s always calling her something – it must be in Gaelic, it’s certainly not Dutch.”

“ _Mo nighean ruaidh_ ,” Jamie breathed. “You’re right – it’s Gaelic. It means…well, it means, ‘my red-haired lass.’”

Claire slid a hand over the quilt to clasp Jamie’s. “That’s beautiful.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t think much of it until I met you. Then I understood.”

She ran her thumb over his knuckles. “Understood what?”

He fed her a small piece of bread, gently tracing the curve of her chin. “A woman is given a name when she’s born – it’s the name given her by those who love her the most at that time in her life. Her parents. But when she’s grown, she needs a new name – a name given her by the man who loves her the most at that time in her life. Her husband.”

He smiled. “Your parents named you Claire. It means light. You brought life to their lives. To my life.” He cupped her cheek. “Now it’s my turn to name you. _Nebhongo_. It’s who you are. My brave lioness.”

Claire sat up straight, letting the quilt fall from her shoulders. Gripping his hands. Naked before him in the bright light of day.

“I love you, Jamie.” Strong. Confident. Clear. True.

His face crumpled with feeling. “Oh, Claire. If you only knew how much I love you.”

–

Sometime later he held up one of her curls, twining it around his finger.

“Do you know – I think the sunlight is different here,” she said softly.

“How do you mean?”

She settled her head into a more comfortable position on his forearm, rolling her shoulders against the uneven knots in the rag rug beside the bed. They had tumbled off the mattress – and he had turned just in time to cushion her landing – and they had laughed so hard that they had had to join again. Not that they minded.

“Well…there’s more of it here, than in England.”

Jamie snorted. “Well, that sounds obvious. I’ve never been to England, or Scotland, but I hear it rains all the time there.”

“Stop it.” Playfully she shoved his shoulder. He kissed her elbow. “What I mean is, when the sun is out, here there seems to be more light. The light is…fuller. Brighter. Yes, the colors are _much_ brighter.”

“Hmm. I _think_ I understand. We’re at the bottom of the world, no? Wouldn’t that mean that we get more sunlight than up north, in Europe?”

“I suppose that may be the case,” she reflected. “That reminds me – I never finished asking you about how you were educated.”

“At home, by my father.” He settled back, a dreamy smile crossing his face. “And then he had tutors come to the farm for me and Janna, and Jan too. He paid them in wine and whisky and grain. Bright men educated in Amsterdam – at the universities there, and in Paris. We learned mathematics and biology and philosophy. Literature – the books in English are so much more interesting than the ones in Dutch. Geography, to understand our place in the world. And astronomy. When it’s dark, and you’re out in the pasture on your own, the best way to navigate back to the main house is to use the stars.”

“I’m so glad that I chose such an educated man for my husband,” she smiled.

“Well, _Nebhongo_ ,” he replied, seeking her hips with his hands, “I didn’t spend all those days going through my lessons just waiting to eat my lunch.”

–

“I can’t go outside like this!”

“Of course you can!” he retorted, shaking his head. “Who’s going to see? Just a few springbok. Maybe some birds. And me – but you haven’t seemed to mind that.”

Claire huffed, then dropped the blanket and took Jamie’s waiting hand. Silently he led her out of the cottage and into the small clearing outside, beyond the rooibos bushes.

“Christ,” he breathed. “You’re glowing.”

Sweeping her eyes from his crown of red curls to his bony toes – and every inch in between – she couldn’t fathom the thousands of tiny decisions that she had had to make to be here, in this moment, with this man.

“I’m flushed because I’m nervous. But you calm me, Jamie.”

He squeezed her hand and led her around the back, toward a stout tree laden with clusters of fruit.

“Figs?”

“Yes – this is called a sycamore fig tree.”

Claire reached up to help herself to a ripe orange fruit. “It’s so colorful!”

“And delicious.”

She grinned, there underneath the shade of the heavy branches, and teasingly popped the fruit into his mouth.

He chewed, smiling. Then picked a fruit for her. Just as she parted her lips, waiting for the rich taste – he stroked her cheek with his thumb, eyes dark.

“I will provide for you, you know. You’ll never want for anything, Claire.”

She swallowed. “Yes. I know, Jamie.”

“I will keep every vow I have ever made to you.”

“I know.”

“What’s mine is yours. Now. Always.”

She stepped closer – her breasts against his chest, sweat blooming between them. Her mind overwhelmed with so much feeling that she could only say what truly mattered:

“I love you.”

Tears sprung to his eyes. He looked at her as if she were the first woman to ever walk the earth.

“Oh dear God,” he sobbed. “How I love you.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/175812077883/uitlander)

**Chapter 17**

**Peace**

**Friday, March 10, 1826**

* * *

                                                                          

* * *

Time passed.

By the time they returned to Noord Toring after a blissful week in the cottage, Claire’s trunk had been moved into Jamie’s room, Brian had thoughtfully tied their two small mattresses together, and Suzette had finished the lovely blue quilt they would sleep under every night.

They settled into a peaceful daily routine. Waking before dawn to quietly love each other, before helping each other dress (stealing kisses and muffling giggles, so as to not wake the whole house) and parting for their early chores – him to check the horses and cows in the stable, her to check the medicines she had set to brew overnight. Then a large family breakfast at mid-morning, where Brian said the blessing and Elin complimented Mistress Crook and Janna and Jan tried their best to prevent their children from smearing breakfast all over their smocks.

Then off to their chores – Claire to make the rounds on the estate, checking in with the farmhands and their families, her medical box – always containing Jamie’s lion-tooth knife – tucked securely over her forearm. Already she knew the areas where certain herbs or roots or flowers grew, and it wasn’t uncommon for the wives and children of the farmhands to make unannounced visits to the main house, shyly bearing an apronful of something they knew Claire could use in her medicines.

Jamie spent his day helping Brian and Jan and Murtagh run the estate – from harvesting grapes for the wine, to selecting the fields that would lay fallow this year, to driving the wagon into town to bargain a fair price for next year’s wheat, to taking his turn overseeing the secret (and illegal) whisky still, safe in its hidden cave.

How they joyed in finding each other during the day – and then following one another in their chores. Jamie would bring the business problem of the day to Claire, and she’d mull it over while cutting bandages or grinding medicines. Claire would voice her concern about a farmhand’s festering leg wound while Jamie balanced the ledgers, and he would make a mental note to visit the man the next day, encouraging him to rest, promising that he wouldn’t be docked a day’s wages for taking care of himself.

Seamlessly she had slipped into life at Noord Toring. It shocked her how easy it was – how natural it was. She expressed as much in a letter to Uncle Lamb, five weeks after formally becoming a Fraser.

“You look happy,” Jamie remarked, curled cat-like on their bed, puzzling over a compendium of Robert Burns’ poetry which Murtagh had acquired thirdhand from a farmer who was short of cash.

Claire turned around to face him, settling her hands on the small yet solid writing desk Elin’s grandfather had built. “I know you have eyes like a hawk, but surely you can’t read from all the way over there.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I was just writing to Uncle Lamb – ” she held out the sheet of paper – “about how I’m beginning to feel like I actually belong here. And how happy that makes me feel.”

His mouth curved into the wide, sweet smile she so dearly loved to kiss. “I _knew_ you belonged here, with me.” He settled back on the bed, hands folded under his head. “Almost since the first time I laid eyes on you.”

She set down the letter and took the three steps to the bed, sinking down beside him. “You must have been very confident.”

He pursed his lips. “I knew it wasn’t right – to love a woman who was promised to another. As ill-advised as I thought the match was, I’d never dishonor any man, or woman, in that way.”

Silently their hands found each other. Lazily the curtains swayed in the breeze flowing through the open window; the lamplight shifted, throwing shadows.

“Would you really have let me marry him? Even if he hadn’t died?”

He swallowed, brow furrowed. Deep in thought.

“No.”

His eyes met hers – burning in intensity.

“It wouldn’t have been honorable, and there would have been scandal in town. Perhaps shame for my parents. But I couldn’t stand by, seeing you so powerless, Claire. Do you remember what I said to you, the night he died?”

The breeze stirred the pages of the half-composed letter, rustling on the worn wood of the desk.

“You said that you wanted to give me control back in my life.” That night seemed like yesterday, and like a thousand years ago.

“When you came here, you had very few choices. Very little control. That day you arrived, when you kept bumping into me in the front of the wagon, and Alex and Frank were too busy with each other to talk to you…I knew.”

She raised their joined hands to her lips, and kissed the back of his wrist gently.

“I thought that coming here would be the end of my life – figuratively, of course. But now, Jamie – with you…”

Tears welled, unbidden. He didn’t shame it, or question it – just thumbed them away.

“With you…it’s only just beginning.”

His chin crumpled with feeling, and he drew close to kiss her.

–

“Does it ever stop, Claire?”

Just the high, full moon bathed their bedroom in light.

“Jamie?” Sleepily, her voice rose in a question, breath hot against his neck.

He gathered her even closer against him – it was too hot tonight to sleep under the quilt – and pressed a soft kiss to the shell of her ear.

“Even when we’ve just…finished – I want you again. I want you even more.”

She ran one hand up the planes of his belly and chest – still damp with a mix of his and her sweat – resting her hand over his thrumming heart.

“Do you think it’s any different for me?” she breathed. “It’s as if I’ve been crossing a desert for two hundred years, and once I had my first taste of water…”

She found his lips in a long, long, deep kiss.

“Is it too much for you?”

“No. Never. You?”

“No. Never.”

Another kiss. His thumb traced the bumps of her collarbones; her fingers tangled in the thick hair at the center of his chest.

“Do you think it will always be like this, between us? Will it always feel this fresh? This new?”

“I hope so. Mama and Papa – thirty years they have been married. And you see how they can’t ever stop touching.”

Claire pulled back a bit. “How old are you, Jamie? I never thought to ask.”

She felt his smile against her temple. “Twenty-four. You?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“Really?” His voice was full of genuine surprise. “I knew you were older than me, but I had assumed a year, maybe two at most.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“No. No, I don’t mind at all. It means you know your mind, yes? That you are sure of your decisions.”

“I’m sure.” She pressed her hand harder into his chest, the cool bite of her – his – wedding ring telling him everything he needed to know.

Somewhere down the hall, Cato wailed, followed promptly by Jan – or Janna – loudly shushing her to sleep.

Claire’s fingers curled, her nails digging in to his skin.

He waited for her to ask the question on his lips.

“Do you want to have children?”

Softly, gently he ran his fingertips up and down her arm, warming the cool flesh.

“Yes. Do you?”

“Yes.” She paused. “How many?”

“As many as we can. Would you be all right with that?”

She took a long time to answer. “Yes. Do you know – I’ve never really spent time around children, until I came here. It’s a lot of work. Jan and Janna are saints.”

“Yes, it would be a lot of work. But we would have a lot of help.”

Claire shifted so that they faced each other on the pillow. She traced his features in the moonlight. “We would. And we would love them ever so much.”

He nodded, throat thick with feeling.

“Do you know – I hadn’t even thought of having children with Alex. But Jamie – ”

Now she seized him, gripping his shoulders tight, kissing every inch of his dear, dear face.

“Jamie – I can’t wait to give you a child.”

Overcome, all he could do was kiss her, and push her gently into the mattress, and love her and love her and love her again until dawn.

–

Claire drifted on the edges of sleep – lulled by the low tones of Jamie’s voice, speaking Dutch.

Her grasp of the language – and the idiosyncrasies of the Cape Dutch dialect that was Jamie’s mother tongue – had improved remarkably since her arrival. He often spoke to her in Dutch, while she slept; sharing the secrets deep in his heart, for which he had no English.

She hadn’t told him she could hear him while still half-asleep – and this morning was glad, for the words he whispered so softly, so gently, just about broke her heart.

_O God, beskerm my vrou. My wit duif. En haar kinders. Beskerm hulle teen skade. Hier en oral. Vandag, en elke dag._


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/176053865245/uitlander)

**Chapter 18**

 **Rhythm**

* * *

                                                          

* * *

_Noord Toring_

 _Monday, May 15, 1826_

 _Dear Uncle Lamb,_

 _By the time you read this letter, summer will have arrived in Oxford. I still find it hard to believe that the seasons are the opposite here – June marks the beginning of winter, and as such we are in the throes of the autumn harvest._

 _I have learned a great deal about grapes and sheep and the various cereal crops that we are growing this year. Most of the actual harvesting is done by the farm hands, of course – with close supervision (and often participation) by Jamie, Brian, Murtagh, and Jan, to the best of his ability. I’ve been up at the fields with them every day; quite often the scythe will slip, or an ankle will twist in the mud, so my services have been employed quite frequently._

 _I know I’ve said this to you in previous letters, but here, at the bottom of the world, I’ve found my place. I tend to the farm hands and their families; I look after the families in the neighboring farms; and of course I care for my new family here. I’ve got a proper surgery now, in the main house; Elin cleared out a store room for my exclusive use. It’s quite small, but there is a large window so that I can watch the mountain as I prepare my medicines. Jamie has built new shelves so that I’m making the best use of the space. The farm has a surprising abundance of plants and roots and leaves that I can use, and whatever I can’t find here, I can easily find in town._

 _Jamie and I go into the Cape Town every few weeks, though with the harvest lately he has been going much more frequently. You won’t be surprised to know that I’m on a first-name basis with the only apothecary in the entire Colony – his name is Hough, and he’s from Edinburgh, of all places. He has been instrumental in guiding me through how to use the native plants, and as he has a contract with the garrison at the fort he is able to procure the more rarer medicines from India and England that would otherwise be difficult to come by._

 _A mixture of English and Cape Dutch is spoken in the town. My Cape Dutch – not proper Dutch, alas, but rather the somewhat antiquated dialect spoken here – has improved tremendously. Of course, that is no doubt due to the fact that it’s Jamie’s mother tongue; he and our family – including one-year-old Greet! – enjoy teaching me new words. It doesn’t come easily off of the tongue, but it’s certainly a fun challenge._

 _I have only seen Frank Randall once since I married Jamie. And it was by accident, about a month ago when I had finished at the apothecary and was meandering to the main square, where Jamie and Brian were meeting someone interested in our wine and vinegar. I turned a corner and there he was – neatly dressed, all proper. We looked at each other, speechless, for a very long moment. Then he remembered himself, asked how I was doing. He didn’t let on that he knew I am a Fraser now, so I told him. I daresay it was only his Oxford breeding that prevented him from fainting on the spot – but he quickly recovered, expressed his congratulations, and promptly left me there on the corner._

 _I thank God every second of every day that I met Jamie – and that we chose each other._

 _He says to thank you for the kind words in your last letter. He felt terrible that he didn’t have a chance to ask you for my hand; I told him that you would have said it was only mine to give, but nevertheless I am so pleased at his thoughtfulness. Knowing that you hold him in the greatest esteem truly means the world to him. He wants to be as much a part of our little family as I have become a part of his large one._

 _And thank you also for the introduction to Governor Grey; I am so glad that he remembered you and still holds you in such high regard, despite the years that have passed. I shall call on him during my next visit to the town. Jamie and Brian have not met him, but I believe it would be beneficial for them to get to know each other._

 _Our neighbors, the Groots, have wanted Noord Toring – the house, and the land – for decades now; the patriarch had his eye set on Elin when he was a young man, and I don’t think he’s ever gotten over the fact that she chose to marry (elope with!) the penniless Scottish farmhand rather than him. Anyway, they use different farming techniques on the Groot estate. This means that despite the drought over the past few years, Noord Toring has continued to succeed, while the Groot farm has fallen on hard times. I’m convinced that the fact that I have treated their farm hands – and slaves – on various occasions doesn’t endear me, or Jamie, to them._

 _The Groots – like Elin’s family, the Kotzes – have been here for generations, and as such are powerful in the colony. I do not know if they have the Governor’s ear; I do think that the Frasers have an upper hand in that Brian as a Scotsman is a British citizen. And now they have me – an Englishwoman – whose uncle has ties to the Governor._

 _I love my family as I do you, Uncle Lamb – fiercely. I will do anything to protect them, to keep them safe._

 _Jamie says the same to me – and I know that that is a vow he will keep until his dying day._

 _A vow that I will keep for him, too._

 _Anyway – thank you as always for the tidbits of faculty gossip, as well as the handsome new edition of Chaucer. I have taken to reading the tales to the family each evening after supper, and it has brought us all immense joy._

 _I miss you and shall always remain_

 _Your loving niece,_

 _Claire_


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/176299175648/uitlander)

**Chapter 19**

**Making Waves**

**Monday, June 12, 1826**

* * *

                                                                         

* * *

“Is that right?” Lord John Grey, Governor of the Cape Colony, laughed, pouring his guests a bit more claret. “I can’t imagine that you were welcomed with open arms.”

“On the contrary, my lord – I had almost been one of the family for a few years by that point.” Brian Fraser thoughtfully sipped his claret, sitting back a bit in the deep armchair. “And my father-in-law Jakob, he was happy to finally have a son to teach.”

“I was the only surviving child,” Elin explained. “Papa had been worried about what would happen to the estate. But he died peacefully, knowing that between Brian and I, we would take care of the farm. And keep our traditions alive.”

“Fascinating,” the governor reflected. “I so do enjoy learning the history here – to be frank, I had no idea just how long some of the families have been here.”

“Brian and Elin have told me that it hasn’t always been smooth sailing,” Claire interjected, turning to face Lord Grey directly, silently squeezing Jamie’s hand.

The governor’s fair brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Surely you are aware of the drought these past years, here in the Cape?” Jamie replied, squeezing Claire’s hand in response. “My father – and my grandfather – pioneered different planting techniques which use less water, and keep our fields fertile even during times of drought. Our neighbors – the Groots – they have not yet adopted such modern methods.”

Brian nodded. “What my son is trying to say, my lord, is that the Groots have been particularly aggressive these last months. Threatening my workers, when one of our sheep or cows strays onto their property. Spreading rumors about me and my family here in town, to put off buyers from purchasing our wine and grains.” Brian briefly turned to his wife. “Willem Groot had his eye on Elin, the whole time they were growing up. He’s never recovered from the fact that she chose me.”

“Papa, I can hardly see why that’s relevant to the present discussion – ”

“No, no, I perfectly understand,” Lord Grey interjected. “There are just enough reasons for the Groots to make small gestures of their displeasure. Fortunately none of those foul rumors have ever made their way to me – to be frank, Mister and Mistress Fraser – _both_ pairs of you – I have only ever heard the warmest words about your character, your farm, and your family. And only the highest compliments about your grain and wine.”

Brian Fraser actually blushed; Claire Fraser held back a tiny smile. “Thank ye, my lord – I canna tell ye how much it pleases me to hear that.”

“Not at all. Your family is a model for this colony – a perfect union of British and Dutch. And now, with Claire, even a bit more English.”

Now Claire smiled broadly. “Thank you, Lord Grey – I know I’ve said this before, but I’m so delighted that we have my Uncle as a connection.”

“He could not speak higher of you – and of your new family. It is truly my pleasure to know you all.”

Jamie squeezed Claire’s hand, unspeakably proud.

“Now – Mister and Mistress Fraser – beg pardon, all four of you – would you be amenable to attend a reception I’ll be holding here, at my residence, in about four weeks time?”

–

The governor’s aide had barely closed the door behind them when Jamie swept his wife up in a dramatic kiss.

“Jamie!” she laughed, tearing away from his mouth.

“I love you, Claire. You are so smart,” he beamed.

“Aye, lass – you’ve a sharp mind for politics, did yer Uncle ever tell ye that?” Two paces away, Brian stood arm-in-arm with Elin, wide smiles on their faces. “Never to my knowledge has a Dutch farming family been invited for a private audience with the governor – and certainly we’ve never, ever been a part of the town society! And he said that he wants to serve our wine to his guests! And have us attend his party! What an honor!”

“But you _should_ be part of the society here,” Claire reasoned. “With everything I’ve learned about this place, I knew that an audience with the Governor would only help you. And it also makes Uncle Lamb feel better, knowing that he can repay you in some small way for the incredible generosity you’ve shown me.”

Jamie kissed her forehead.

“Nonsense, Claire – you are all the gift we needed.” Elin gently stepped closer to her son and daughter-in-law. “I hope you don’t mind that Brian and Jamie spend some time attending to business, now that we’re in town?”

This was the signal they had agreed on, sipping whiskey in the parlor after dinner the night before, strategizing for their meeting with Governor Grey. For Brian and Jamie were to meet a contact who had requested safe passage for three slaves, seeking freedom on the same secret path that at least a hundred others had taken over the past twenty years.

Claire worried, of course – as did Elin – but she reassured her daughter-in-law that the Fraser men knew what they were doing.

“No,” Claire heard herself say, distracted by the cluster of children playing across the street. “No, I don’t mind at all.”

She looked up at Jamie, nodded at him, and waited for his nod to her. He bent to kiss her goodbye, and whispered two simple, life-changing words:

“Ask her.”

Claire nodded, throat thick, and tasted his goodbye kiss long after he and Brian turned to walk in the opposite direction.

Ask her.

_They had discussed it this morning, nestled beneath their quilt in the soft, dark hours before dawn, Jamie’s big hands spanning her bare belly._

_“It’s been forty-six days since you bled, Claire.”_

_She kissed the stubble on his chin. “I know.  And I love that you kept count.”_

_“How could I not?” he smiled. “I’m a farmer. I grew up tracking such things. Why would I not track my own wife’s fertility?”_

_“I love that you care so deeply, Jamie – and that you are so open to my body, and how it works.”_

_His brow furrowed. “Why would I not be? I know our wedding was in Latin, but I studied the vows – I know the priest said that we are one flesh.”_

_Slowly she brought her own hands over her belly, tangling her fingers with his, cradling – sheltering – what they hoped so desperately to be there. “So many of the women I treat – and most of the women your mother cares for – their husbands see it as something…foreign. Something dirty. The Curse of Eve.”_

_He kissed the tip of her nose. “Eve may have been cursed, but she came from Adam’s flesh. And she took him with her out of the garden. Claire, when we joined our blood, at our wedding, we promised before God that we had become one. That you are me, and I am you.”_

_She shifted her hands to cup his head, eyes shining in the growing light of dawn, and kissed him hard._

_“I want it, Jamie – so much.”_

_He anchored his hands on her hips. “Ask Mama, when the two of you have time together today.”_

_“I will. Now – I know you said we are one flesh…” Slowly she wrapped her legs around his hips._

_“Yes…” he breathed._

_“Show me.”_

_He settled into the mattress, shifted her above him – draping her bare shoulders in the quilt, protecting her from the chill – and let her show him…_

Claire blinked and turned to face Elin.

“Do you mind if we visit the apothecary’s while we wait? There are a few things I need to replenish…”

“Of course not!” Elin beamed. “Lead the way!”

The two women linked arms and walked in the direction of Hough’s. Claire was glad she had brought her sun hat. Winter may be just around the corner – the days were certainly shorter now – but the temperature was still pleasantly balmy. And the sunlight – as always – drenched the streets and buildings with vibrant colors.

“I need to ask you something,” she said after a while, eyes trained on the hard-packed earth of the street.

“You know you can speak to me about anything, Claire,” Elin gently encouraged. “What’s on your mind?”

Claire pressed her lips together – deciding.

“I think I’m pregnant.”

Elin stopped walking, then gently pulled Claire to the side, standing in the sheltering shadow of the post office. She rested her hands on Claire’s shoulders, eyes shining with joy.

“Tell me.”

Claire did – how long it had been since her courses, how sensitive her body had been, how never in her life had she been more than a day late.

“I’ll have to examine you when we get home, but – Claire, all the signs point to yes.”

Joy surged through Claire’s heart, and Elin positively beamed with happiness.

“Does Jamie know?”

Claire snorted. “He’s been counting the days.”

Elin’s smile widened. “Of course he has. Very hands-on, that one. Very attentive.”

“He learned that from you.”

“He did. Oh, Claire!” Elin pulled her daughter-in-law into a deep embrace. “Oh, I am so, so happy for you!”

“Do you think I can tell him?”

“I don’t see why not – though I’d imagine he’d want to be with you, when I take a closer look once we get home?”

“Of course he would – and I’d want him there.”

Elin cradled Claire’s cheek in her work-roughened hand. “You are a true blessing, Claire. To Jamie, yes – but to all of us.”

Claire couldn’t stop smiling for the entire time they were at Hough’s, and then during the walk back to the Governor’s house, where Jamie and Brian waited in the wagon.

She nodded at Jamie – and he picked her up, and twirled her around, laughing and kissing and not believing that it could be real.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/176551649678/uitlander)

**Chapter 20**

**The Visitor**

**Thursday, August 10, 1826**

* * *

                                                                     

* * *

Claire stood up a bit straighter, one hand rubbing the suddenly-tight muscles of her lower back, the other cradling her four-months-pregnant belly.

“Are you all right?” At her elbow, Jamie gently rested one hand atop hers, placing a thin red leather bookmark to mark his place in the thick ledger.

“Yes,” she smiled. “ _We’re_ fine. Although my body certainly isn’t feeling like my own these days.”

Jamie pushed back the chair from the heavy desk and opened his arms. Wordlessly she sank onto his lap, the hem of her dress rising to expose her shins and ankles, Jamie’s capable hands rubbing the sore spot.

“I feel so useless. I’m not even doing anything strenuous – but my muscles just start to _ache_ at the oddest times…”

“Don’t even _think_ that way, Claire,” he replied softly, eyes intent on hers. “Even when you’re resting, you’re still doing the most important job in the world.”

It had been very smooth sailing so far – from the moment Elin confirmed what Claire had expected (Jamie clasping her hand, his tears on her knuckles), there had been very few bumps in the road. Apart from the infrequent bouts of morning sickness – when Jamie refused to leave her side and Claire shooed him away to milk the cows and turn the whisky mash and perform a thousand other tasks much more useful than fretting over her – and her astounding appetite (this week she craved the dried meat Jan made for the family, which he called _biltong_ ) – very little had occurred to disrupt Claire’s normal routine.

If she thought she had loved Jamie – and her life with Jamie – before, it paled in comparison to her life now. For today – every day – was new with possibilities. Often she caught herself daydreaming…a small red-haired boy darting through the pastures…a small dark-haired girl hoisted on Jamie’s shoulders…

“Anyway…it’s such good news that Governor Grey wishes to order fifteen more barrels of wine, is it not?”

“It is,” Jamie agreed. “It’s very good news indeed. The barley didn’t fetch the same price as last year, but between the wine sales and the wool that Janna and Suzette were able to sell the merchants in town, we’ve more than made up for the difference. As you know.”

“Yes. And my doctoring has sometimes resulted in the nicest gifts – the tools and jams and chickens. As you know.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “Yes.”

She pulled back a bit to just look at him, now that the sun had sunk low and glowing on the hills outside. Winters at the Cape weren’t nearly as harsh as what she had known in Oxford – just a light sweater during the day, and full dark came right around suppertime. The cows and sheep and goats still grazed; the garden and orchards still produced the maize and potatos and vegetables that were the staples of the Fraser/van der Meer diet; and, of course, Brian and Jamie and Murtagh continued to sell their barrels of wine and vinegar (together with not a few casks of completely illegal whisky) in the town and among their neighbors.

Noord Toring was flourishing. As was Claire Fraser.

“Any word from Fergus?” Now her eyes dropped, fingers smoothing the collar of Jamie’s shirt.

“Any day now. It was…what’s the phrase? A close shave, last time, with the three. He told me this time would be easier – just one. A man.”

Claire sighed. “I know it’s important – I love you for doing it. But perhaps…”

Jamie’s thumb tilted Claire’s chin, so that their eyes met. Hers troubled, his confident.

“It will be fine. I’ll hasten back to you, Claire. You and the _bokkie_.”

The term meant “little buck” – the same term that Jan used with Young Jamie, and that Jamie said his father had used with him when he was small. How it always brought a smile to her face.

Jamie was leaning in to kiss her when Rupert and Angus thundered through the study door.

“Jamie! Claire! Come quick!”

Instantly alert, Jamie gripped Claire’s hand, helping her to stand before springing to his own feet. “What is it? What happened?”

“A visitor,” Rupert replied, still panting from his sprint.

“A good visitor or bad visitor?” Claire asked patiently, gripping Jamie’s hand. They had already agreed – should Jack Randall or any soldier visit Noord Toring again, Claire was to immediately go upstairs to Brian and Elin’s room – the only bedroom that locked – and stay there with the very young children.

“Oh, it’s a very good one!” Angus exclaimed. “I promised Grandda that I wouldn’t spoil the surprise. Can you come?”

“Surprise?” Claire looked to her husband, brow furrowed.

“Come on, Claire!” Rupert elbowed his twin, urging him back to the house’s front porch.

Claire squeezed Jamie’s hand and led him through the door, down the hallway, toward the sitting room –

“Ah! There she is – my, Claire, you’ve tanned! All this bright sunshine and fresh air, here at the bottom of the world…”

Her heart almost stopped – and then raced – and then she dropped Jamie’s hand and ran the eleven steps into Dr. Quentin Lambert Beauchamp’s waiting arms, tipping his straw hat to the polished floor.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/176803988814/uitlander)

**Chapter 21**

**Family**

**Thursday, August 10, 1826**

* * *

                                                                               

* * *

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming for a visit?” Claire gently chuffed her uncle’s shoulder. He sputtered into his wineglass, but couldn’t help but turn to his much-beloved niece and smile.

“I decided to take a sabbatical – spur-of-the-moment thing, for the autumn semester. I’ve done a fair bit of research on the Cape Colony since you departed, Claire – and the more I read, the more fascinated I become with the native culture here.”

“The Cape was sparsely populated before the Portuguese and Dutch arrived,” Brian interjected, topping up Lamb’s tumbler of whisky. “The land down by the coast is too sandy for crops, and the Hottentot didna have much in the way of organized agriculture up here in the hills. The Xhosa have their cattle, of course – but they came more recently.”

“But of course with that nomadic lifestyle, there is little in the way of material culture to examine. Which is why I am also fascinated at the progression of different European powers here – from the Portuguese, to the Dutch, of course – and now to the English.” Blissfully in his element, Lamb looked up and down the dinner table – holding his audience, from eight-month-old Cato all the way up to Murtagh – utterly rapt. “The architecture of this house, for example – it’s textbook Cape Dutch. But with a bit of dramatic flair that the Dutch never cared for. And together with the fact that this wine is just exquisite…Elin, may I ask – is there any French Huguenot blood in your family?”

Elin pursed her lips, thinking. “I can fetch the family Bible to check. But if memory serves, my great-great-grandmother on my father’s side – her surname was Des Pres.”

“Capital!” Lamb exclaimed, excitedly smacking the table with the palm of his hand; Suzette jumped to prevent the water jug from tipping over.

“If you keep going through the hills, to the west of here, you’ll come across a small town we call Franschhoek,” Jamie added, squeezing Claire’s hand beneath the table. “It’s Cape Dutch for ‘French Corner.’ Many Huguenots settled there – though by now they’ve all intermarried with Dutch and English.”

Lamb let out an excited shout. “Most excellent. I can only imagine the fascinating mélange of culture and food and religion that resulted. I will certainly be kept busy while I’m here.”

Elin met Claire’s eyes across the table. The two women shared a happy smile – Elin for the gift of meeting the man who Claire so loved, Claire for the Frasers’ unflagging hospitality for her family.

At the end of the table, Murtagh cleared his throat. “One thing to keep in mind, Professor – ”

“Lamb, if you please. No need for formality – after all, we _are_ family!”

Murtagh’s mouth twitched into a half-smile. “Mmphmm. One thing to keep in mind – and I’m sure ye’d expect this in a place as wild as the Cape – is that we dinna advise anyone to go about on their own.”

Lamb cut into his potato, chewing thoughtfully. “Not even here on the farm?”

“Ach no, the farm is safe. Brian and Elin and the family see to that just fine. Only – if ye were to go about in the veldt, or to take the road down to the town or over to Franschhoek…ye canna go alone. Ye need to keep yer wits about ye, with one of us who is from here.”

Lamb turned to Claire, brows raised skeptically. “You never told me that in any of your letters.”

“It’s the same advice we give to Claire,” Brian gently explained. “And to Elin and Suzette and Janna, for that matter. For a woman, or a newcomer, to travel on his or her own – there are too many things that could happen.”

“Setting aside wild animals, like lions,” Jan added, “There is the British Army. The family has had…run-ins with soldiers in the past, and it has not always been pleasant. And of course, the fact that Noord Toring is prosperous means that we have always had jealous neighbors, even when I was a boy.”

“And in case you haven’t noticed, we are quite far from the town.” Jamie leaned across the table to make eye contact with Lamb. “The land is open. We have many farm hands on the fields, but there are so many wide open spaces that we can go for days without passing through. Should anything happen…”

“My goodness. I see.” Lamb soberly sipped his whisky.

“The men make that whisky in a secret cave – and sell it illegally,” Elin said baldly. “It’s profitable, but it’s risky. It helps to support the farm, and to support our family.”

Lamb gulped. “I hope you understand I will heed your advice to the letter – and hold all this information in the strictest confidence.”

“We know.” Claire smiled at the man who had raised her, heart full with love. “They told me as much, when I came to live here. I returned that respect – and we know you will, as well.”

Lamb looked to his left, now – to Brian Fraser, at the head of the table. “Thank you for your trust in me. I will not ever betray it.”

Brian nodded, and raised his own tumbler of whisky. “I thank you for that. And now, we continue celebrating! _S_ _làinte mhath_!”

The assembled Fraser/van der Meers – including Rupert and Angus – raised their drinks. “ _S_ _làinte mhath_!” they chorused.

“Goodness! That’s Scottish Gaelic, isn’t it? How wonderful!” Lamb exclaimed, face red from whisky and wine and joy.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/177057160032/uitlander)

**Chapter 22**

**Caution**

**Thursday, August 10, 1826**

* * *

* * *

“I don’t know if words can describe this incredible family.”

Lamb sat beside Claire on the back porch, nursing his third tumbler of whisky. Together they watched the sunset slant over the mountains.

“There are no words, you’re right. ‘Generous’ doesn’t even come close. They’ve…just _enveloped_ me.”

“I can see that. They love you and respect you. I know you’ve said as much to me in your letters, but it is just so wonderful to actually _see_ it.”

“Yes.” She paused, then turned to face her uncle directly. “I don’t want you to think I say that because you didn’t provide enough for me, growing up – ”

“Don’t be silly. Of course I don’t take it that way, my dear.” He smiled at her in the twilight, and tentatively reached out one hand. “May I?”

She beamed. “Of course.”

Lamb’s weathered hand gently rested on her small, yet pronounced belly. He gasped.

“I…Claire, this…this is…”

“I know. Again, there are no words.”

He nodded, then swallowed. “He’s taking good care of you? Your Cape Dutchman?”

Now she rested her hand atop his, squeezing gently. “The very best of care. I _want_ to have my child here – I _want_ to raise my child here.”

“Even with what Brian and Jan and Murtagh and Elin were talking about during supper?”

“Yes.” She didn’t need to even think about her answer. “I am happy here. I am happy with my healing – with my patients. With my family here. And with my husband, more than I can ever express to you. He is my strength and he is also my protector. He has vowed to keep me safe here.”

“So it’s a good thing that that Randall vicar hopped the twig?”

Claire burst out laughing. “ _What_?”

“I don’t think you would have been happy with him. From what you’ve told me – from what I’ve seen here. It was an ill match. He wouldn’t have given you the care that Jamie does.”

She turned back to watch the final rays of sunset disappear behind the peaks. “No.”

“And what about his brothers?”

Claire sighed. “What about them? One is a power-hungry soldier who inflicted significant personal pain on my husband, the other is a thin-faced schoolteacher down in the town, who asked me to marry him when Alex was still warm.”

“The first brother – his name isn’t Jonathan, perchance?”

Claire turned back to look at Lamb, eyes full of surprise. “How did you know?”

He smiled secretly. “Something told me it would be a bit of useful information during my visit here. Now – tell me all about the Frasers and Governor Gray.”

–

“He is certainly enthusiastic.”

Claire smiled, sighing in pleasure as Jamie brushed the snarls from her hair. “Yes, he most certainly is. He’s always been like that – a child in a professor’s body.”

“It makes me happy to know that you were surrounded with such joy when you were growing up.” Carefully he divided her hair into three sections, and began forming a thick plait.

“It was unorthodox, my upbringing. He had me help evaluate his students’ assignments by the time I was eight – tutored me himself, let me sit in on his classes. I didn’t have very many friends of my own age – most of the people I knew were university students, or the professors who occasionally took pity and had us over for supper.”

Jamie tied off the plait and settled beside Claire on the bed, one hand on the mattress, the other caressing the baby.

“Maybe that’s another reason why we get along so well – we were both educated at home, by the man who loved us most as a child.”

She smiled at that, and he couldn’t help but kiss her.

When they parted, she slid her arms over his shoulders, burying her face in his neck. Savoring him. As he savored her.

“Is tonight the night?”

He nodded. “Fergus will be here shortly after midnight. It’s just the one man – should be easy to manage.”

Claire held him tighter. “Be safe. Please.”

“I always am.” Playfully he tugged the end of her plait. “Can we close the lamp? I want to hold you for a bit, before we sleep.”

She drew back the quilt, and he blew out the lamp and settled behind her, twining his fingers with hers as they splayed over her stomach.

“Would you want to name the _bokkie_ after your uncle?”

She tangled her legs with his. “Lambert? I think not. And I’m not sure my father’s name would be suitable, either. Henry. It – it doesn’t sound right, for a child born here.”

“Are there no other boys’ names you like, then?” Tenderly he kissed her jaw, right below her ear. “Surely there are some names you would consider.”

“James, of course,” she breathed. “But there are already two of you in the house – I don’t want to add to the confusion. And Brian, too – but that would not be original. Which is why I’m convinced it’s not a boy.”

She felt his smile against her temple. “You sound so sure. Well then – what would you name our daughter?”

“There are plenty of names. We don’t have to decide now, do we?”

“No, you’re right. We’ve nothing but time until this little one comes.”

–

She could have dreamed his kiss on her cheek, his lingering touch, deep in the night. But this time he hesitated, leaned close to her belly, murmuring a few words in Cape Dutch before kissing her forehead and slipping out the door to meet Fergus. And she felt his love on her, and in her, and knew it to be real.

When morning crept through the curtains, Claire didn’t want to face an empty bed. So she threw on a robe – Jamie’s worn cloak, which smelled like him and kept her and the baby delightfully warm – and softly padded downstairs. Mistress Crook was just starting the breakfast preparations, yawning.

“Ah! Good morning!” she smiled at Claire, pushing the jar of fig jam, crock of butter, and basket of piping-hot bannocks across the battered kitchen table. “Eat up!”

“Thank you.” Claire returned the smile, breaking open a bannock and reaching for the small silver spoon at the mouth of the jam jar.

“How is that burn healing on your hand? If you like – ”

A tall, lanky, dark-haired man swept through the back door and into the kitchen.

“Fergus?” Mistress Crook set down the bowl of eggs. “What on earth – ”

“Claire?” The man looked straight at her – eyes red-rimmed, hair mussed, coat and breeches green with grass stains.

“Fergus?” By reflex one hand went to her belly. _Dear God –_

“Jamie was taken last night. By the soldiers.”

Claire flailed, gripping the edge of the table.

“It was a trap. That damn fool Jakob Groot caught wind of what was happening – he was waiting for us, him and the commander of the garrison. Right as I came around the bend with Joseph. You know that we always make a shortcut on the Groot land – ”

“Where is he?” Heart full of lead; head full of air; body full of dread.

Fergus nervously licked his lips. “Randall took him – him and Brian, too. Tossed them into a wagon headed for the fort.”

Just then Elin breezed into the kitchen.

“Fergus! What a pleasant surprise! Will you be staying for breakfast?”

Then she saw Claire’s ashen face, and reached out her arms in time to catch her daughter-in-law as she dropped to the floor.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/177305318823/uitlander)

**Chapter 23**

**Action**

**Friday, August 11, 1826**

* * *

 

                                                                     

* * *

Claire jerked awake – the kitchen tiles cool on her cheek; the smell of fried eggs choking her throat; the warmth of Elin’s hands along her arms, gently checking for bruises; the murmur of Fergus and Murtagh’s voices dully echoing through her mind.

“Subversion.”

“Yes. For helping free the slave.”

“And what happened to the puir man? And why on earth did they let _you_ leave?”

“It was dark, and I was quick. But it was also clear to me that it was not Joseph that Randall wanted. He wanted Frasers.”

“You mean, Groot wanted Frasers.”

A pause; Fergus must have shrugged. “Brian has told me of the bad blood between you. I didn’t realize that the Groots also had an alliance with the garrison commander.”

“Well it doesna surprise me – they both hate us, and what we stand for, and they want something that’s ours.”

“But what does Randall want?”

Elin heaved a deep, deep sigh. “He wants our blood. Jamie’s blood – for surviving his punishment a few years ago.”

“Dinna forget – from his perspective, he stole Claire, too. Remember how she stood up to him, that one time he came here.”

Claire coughed. Elin helped her sit up, and held a bowl of warm water to her lips.

“Groot…he wants the farm,” Claire rasped. “Jamie has always said so. Remember, you even told Governor Grey about it.”

“So we did.” Elin ran a soothing hand up and down Claire’s back.

Claire closed her eyes to prevent the room from spinning. Her mind raced and jumped from thought to thought – image to disjointed image.

Uncle Lamb’s jaunty straw hat, hanging on the hook beside the back door. The troubling fact that Fergus completely lacked a right hand. How the blue in the tile that framed the kitchen’s fireplace exactly matched the shade of Jamie’s eyes, when he smiled at her.

Elin and Claire both reached the same realization at exactly the same moment.

“The Governor.”

Murtagh stroked his beard, thinking. “Aye. ‘Tis a good plan. Ye must visit him. Ask for clemency.”

“But on what grounds?” Elin shook her head. “Brian and Jamie _were_ breaking the law. It _is_ illegal to aid runaway slaves, after all – no matter how ridiculous that law may be.”

Claire swallowed. The baby inside her stirred, butterfly wings against her belly.

“We have to try.”

Murtagh sighed.

“I’ll have the boys prepare the carriage. Under no circumstances are ye going down there on yer own.”

–

“But couldn’t you possibly – ”

“Madam – I will repeat myself for the third time in the space of as many minutes. Governor Grey is on an official tour of Port Elizabeth. He shall not return for another week.”

“Lieutenant Leonard.” Elin Fraser straightened to her full height of five feet, one inch – and gave the young soldier her best Mama glare. “My husband and son have been detained at the fort, under the auspices of British justice. Given our relationship with the Governor, I demand that someone intervene on our behalf.”

“And let me repeat myself on this point again – my hands are tied. I am not authorized to take any action until the Governor returns.” The young lieutenant deftly wiped his brow of eight beads of perspiration. “In the meantime, I suggest you enquire at the Fort directly.”

“Is there no way to send the Governor a message?” Claire cradled her belly with one hand, tightly gripping the smooth, polished wooden arm of the chair with the other. Beneath her elbow, snug in her deep pocket, was Jamie’s lion-tooth knife.

The younger man sighed. “Is there a reason why you won’t just walk the ten minutes to the fort and ask the man on post there?”

“I hope ye’ll understand that the fort is no’ exactly the best place for a lady,” Murtagh scowled. “Let alone two ladies.”

“Well, I suppose that’s why you’re with them, sir.” Lieutenant Leonard stood. Clearly the audience was over. “Good day to you. Private Higgins here will see you out.”

Murtagh extended a rough hand, and Claire stood, following behind Elin as the splotchy-faced private led them out of the Governor’s quarters and onto the street. With a bow he slammed the door shut behind them.

For a long moment they stood there, stunned.

“Then we go to the fort.”

“Absolutely not!” Elin and Murtagh shouted in unison.

“Whyever not?” Defiantly Claire raised her chin, narrowing her eyes at the two Frasers before her.

“It’s no’ a place for a woman. _Especially_ an expectant mother.” Gently Murtagh reached out to touch Claire’s shoulder. “What do ye plan to do, ye wee brave thing? Break your way in, going cell to cell until ye find Brian and Jamie?”

Suddenly overwhelmed with the sheer impossibility of the task, Claire’s eyes glassed over with tears. “Do you have a better idea?”

He sighed. “I do. But ye willna like it.”

Claire wiped her eyes, swallowed hard, and set her jaw. “Try me.”

–

“I must say,” Frank Randall mused. “I never thought I’d see you here, Claire.”

Claire re-folded her fingers in her lap, sat up a bit straighter in the deep leather chair, set her gaze on the handsome volumes lined up neatly in the bookcase behind Frank’s head. Looking at the books, so that she didn’t need to meet his eyes.

“I have always been honest with you, Frank. Ever since the day we met each other, on the wharf at Bristol. Do you remember?”

“How could I forget?” Absently he straightened five stray sheets of paper – a half-written letter to his mother back in Sussex – on his desk. “I’ve always been honest with you, too. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I wanted you for my own, from the very first.”

She swallowed, wondering what Elin and Murtagh were doing, out there in the school hallway – and whether they could hear through the door of Frank’s office.

“I know that it hasn’t been…amicable between us. Not since we arrived here, and started our new lives.”

“Well, we both seem to have prospered, have we not? I’m already second-in-command here at the Cape School, and you – well, you’re married. And already expecting, if my eyes don’t deceive me?”

He was fishing – and she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of an answer. She had thought long and hard on the walk over about what she would say. It would be bold and selfish. But it was for Jamie – for Jamie and Brian. For her future. For her family.

“Frank – I will speak plainly. I daresay it’s one of the things you find so attractive about me. Jamie and Brian Fraser were arrested last night, and are in the custody of your brother at the fort.”

“Really?” His surprise – no, shock – was genuine. “Whatever for?”

“Attempting to help a slave escape to freedom.”

Frank shook his head. “That’s preposterous.”

“It’s true – I won’t deny it. Only – they are good men. You know that for yourself. They are not criminals. They deserve more deference and respect than they have been given. They should certainly not be held in a military prison for what is at most a civil crime.”

“Perhaps. But why are you telling me this? Not that I don’t mind looking at you – but why me?”

Deep breath. “For the love I know you still bear for me – let this be the only thing I ever ask of you, Frank Randall. I am asking you to speak with your brother Jack. To broker Jamie and Brian’s release.”

Frank leaned forward on his desk, resting his head in between his hands, and sighed.

Somewhere in the hallway, dozens of muffled footsteps darted in both directions. Lunchtime. The end of the longest morning of Claire’s life.

“You drive a hard bargain, Claire Fraser.” Frank’s head was still down.

“I know what I want, Frank – and I know what to do to get it. I just need some help to achieve it.”

Now Frank sat up straight, his eyes piercing hers. “You were a terrible match for my brother.”

“I know.” Her eyes locked with his; the fingers of her right hand spun her wedding ring around and around on her left hand.

“I’m seeing Jack tonight – we’re meeting at my club for drinks. I’ll bring it up.”

Claire stood, and extended her right hand.

Frank took it – but rather than shaking it, he squeezed her fingers in his, and kissed the top of her hand.

“You have a spine of steel. So does your husband.” Frank’s brown eyes were so dark. “You bring that out in each other. That is so rare.”

He dropped her hand, and didn’t bother standing up to see her out.

When Claire closed the door to Frank’s office – and saw Murtagh and Elin patiently waiting on a bench down the hall – she weaved through the dozens of boys bustling in every direction, and felt like she needed a long, restorative bath.

“He’ll do it.”

They embraced her, then – rubbing her back, whispering their thanks in her ears.

“Let’s get ye home, lass,” Murtagh replied, eyes full of love and care and concern. “There’s naught we can do now but wait.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/177551000386/uitlander)

**Chapter 24**

**Plan**

**Saturday, August 12, 1826**

* * *

                                                                          

* * *

Claire gasped, awake from the abyss of deep sleep. The bed was still cold and empty beside her – save for Adso, the family cat, who Angus and Rupert had so thoughtfully brought to her room before bed. She had retired early, after the long journey home from the Cape School and the even longer talk with Uncle Lamb upon her return.

“I woke up this morning and thought to myself, well this is a quiet farm!” he had exclaimed, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of Janna’s own rooibos tea. “Only when I came downstairs and spoke with Janna and Jan and Mistress Crook…and they explained what had happened…”

“I’m sorry I didn’t wake you.” Claire sipped from her own mug of tea, a thick shawl tucked around her shoulders, sitting side-by-side with her uncle on the front porch. “It all happened so fast. We were making it up as we went along.”

“If you were, that’s not evident at all. You did right, Claire. As best as you could, given that the Governor isn’t around.”

“And now we wait. There’s no guarantee that Frank will deliver the message – or that Jack will acknowledge it.”

“Ah. But something tells me that Jack will be more than happy to acknowledge it in his own twisted way. Which means that we must prepare accordingly.”

So they had – Murtagh and Suzette and Elin and Janna and Jan and Lamb and Claire, occupying every spare seat in the sitting room after supper, talking through the different scenarios, deciding who would play what role. Strategizing.

All through the day and then into the night they had sat and discussed and sipped endless rounds of rooibos tea. Claire had excused herself for bed – it really had been a trying day.

Jan later told her that he had heard it first, just as they decided to prepare for bed – the unmistakable clip-clop of hoofbeats on the long drive. As quickly as he could, he hurried to the front door, Murtagh at his side – and opened it in time to catch a dirty and tired but undoubtedly still alive Brian Fraser.

Suzette and Lamb had helped him to the kitchen, where Mistress Crook quickly poured a warm bath. When Claire flew into the room moments later, Elin was already tending the still-raw wounds where shackles had dug deep into Brian’s flesh.

Automatically Claire knelt on the other side of the tub to feel for herself Brian’s wounds, her mind racing in ten thousand directions, hearing only half of the tale Brian’s cracked voice shared…

“Separate cells, we couldn’t even see each other…didn’t have it so bad, I was with some drunks the first day. But the warden told me that Jamie was further down the hallway…yes, with the men awaiting execution. The prisoners kept there are routinely beaten.”

Claire must have paled visibly – for Brian gently lifted her chin with his damp finger. She paused in wrapping a bandage on his other arm, and met his kind, tired eyes.

“I don’t know what you did, Claire, to get me out. I’ll be grateful to you for the rest of my days.”

“She went to Frank Randall,” Murtagh said softly, somewhere in the room.

Brian smiled for the first time since his return – and Claire couldn’t help the small, warm glow of pride blooming in her chest.

“Did ye now? You _are_ a brave thing. After what he asked you – ”

“We need to get Jamie out,” she whispered. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m so very glad you’re here with us, but – ”

“Aye. I understand, lass. And it can’t come quick enough. Captain Randall takes a personal interest in all prisoners kept in that area of the prison…”

“Brian, that is simply barbaric.” Lamb shook his head, dumbfounded. “That that poor excuse of a man is still somehow able to wear his coat and represent His Majesty…”

“Why should it surprise you?” Elin patted Claire’s shoulder and traded places with her beside Brian, finishing wrapping the bandage while Claire gratefully sank into one of the comfortable kitchen chairs. “You’ve seen what our life is like here.”

Claire rubbed her belly. “Jamie told me once that we’re very far away from London. I didn’t understand that at the time – but Uncle, I think you would now.”

“But that’s no excuse. My darling Claire – and Elin, and Brian. Would you greatly mind if I endeavored to meet with Governor Grey on your behalf?”

Elin frowned. “But you can’t – not yet. He’s still on his tour – we told you, he won’t return for at least another few days.”

Lamb straightened up to his full height. “I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you.”

“Tell us what?” Brian sighed. “I do appreciate your help, Professor – but with respect, you’re a visitor here. I don’t know how you could sway anyone to release my son.”

Lamb’s thin lips curved into a soft, knowing smile. “The Governor and I – yes it’s true, I’ve known him since he studied with me at Oxford. And I know his brother, and his father, too.”

Suzette wrapped a comforting, maternal arm around Claire’s shoulder.

“But John and I – we know each other more than just as teacher and former student. We are members of what you would call a…a particular kind of club. Made up of men like us, with certain…habits.”

“I don’t understand,” Claire interjected. “At Oxford you would never go to any meetings –”

“My dear, with respect – it’s strictly on an invitation-only basis. Our membership is not extensive, but our network is vast. We never congregate in groups larger than three, so as to not attract attention. I’m violating one of our basic rules by even telling you about it.”

Brian’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean, the network is vast? Does it extend even here, to the Cape?”

Lamb’s smile widened further. “It does. I hope you don’t mind, Claire, but as soon as you came down here and began writing me about the Randall brothers and their various positions in society, I…activated the network. Searching for anything about Captain Jonathan Wolverton Randall, Esquire.”

Claire stilled. “What did you find out?”

Lamb considered his response for a long, tense moment. Claire watched the steam rise from Brian’s bathtub; felt the creak of floorboards overhead as Janna settled Cato; heard the soft beats of Suzette’s heart beneath her cheek.

“My dears – it is positively damning.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/177799621907/uitlander)

**Chapter 25**

**The Fort**

**Monday, August 14, 1826**

* * *

                                                                                  

* * *

Three or four days remained until Governor Grey returned from his tour of Port Elizabeth.

Two days had passed since Brian Fraser’s return, in the middle of the night. Bruised and hungry and tired, but whole.

Claire could wait no longer.

Uncle Lamb stayed behind at Noord Toring, drafting in his beautiful handwriting the brief he would personally deliver to the Governor. It would take time to lay out the evidence of Jack Randall’s misdeeds, uncovered by the mysterious network in a series of letters which Lamb had carried in his waistcoat pocket all the way down to the Cape – the insurance policy which the Fraser/van der Meers were so glad he had thought to prepare.

Lamb had been tight-lipped about the specifics of the letters – only that it pertained to the years Randall had spent commanding a garrison in the Scottish Highlands. Vaguely she remembered Alex and Frank discussing their eldest brother’s time there – in the context of how much he had disliked it, and the barbarity of the people there.

But this morning – no need to dwell on those thoughts. For she was crossing the drawbridge surrounding the fort, built in the shape of a five-pointed star by the Dutch almost two centuries before. Lips pursed, head held high as she passed under the entry arch and stepped into the expansive parade ground, the dust not yet settled from that morning’s exercises, the silent shadow of Table Mountain yet another sentry in the distance.

Within five seconds, two soldiers – resplendent in their scarlet coats – materialized from the shadows. One wore the insignia of an officer.

“What business have you here?”  

Murtagh stiffened at her elbow. Ready to strike.

Claire straightened her back and lifted her chin. “My name is Claire Fraser. My husband, James Fraser, is being held prisoner here. I wish to see him.”

The younger officer spoke first. “Have you made an appointment, madam?”

“I wasn’t aware I needed to. I can’t imagine that very many prisoners receive visitors.”

The officer stepped a bit forward. “Please ignore this soldier, madam. I am Sir Fletcher – commander of the men stationed here, in Captain Randall’s absence.”

Claire’s heart floated up her backbone. “He’s not here?”

“I’m afraid he’s not – this morning he took some men to visit the naval station at Simon’s Town, but he should be back by tomorrow. Is there a chance you could return then? Speak with him directly?”

Murtagh bristled; Claire swallowed.

“I’m afraid I can’t wait that long, Sir Fletcher. My husband has been held here for four days, and his family has been unable to make contact. We have not even received an official written statement describing the nature of his arrest – surely you’re aware that that’s a violation of the law?”

Sir Fletcher tilted his head – taking in all of Claire (and her dour companion) for the first time. Young; head covered in a respectable bonnet; clad in a pale yellow dress that was neither plain nor ostentatious. Eyes and chin fierce, set, determined.

“Madam – may I ask you to repeat your name?”

“Claire.” Her voice was strong, confident, true. “Claire Beauchamp Fraser, of the Noord Toring estate. Brian and Elin Fraser’s estate. This is my kinsman, Murtagh Fraser. My husband’s name is James.”

A hawk – wings glossy black in the morning sunlight – wheeled over the empty parade ground.

“Private Foster?”

The younger soldier blinked in surprise, but saluted his superior.

“If you’d be so kind as to show Mistress Fraser into my office…I’ll be there shortly. It seems there has been yet another misplacement of paperwork.”

Sir Fletcher bowed and turned on his heel to cross the parade ground, boots crunching on the gravel.

Private Foster coughed, then gestured toward his left – and a door about twenty paces from the main gate.

“This way please, Mistress Fraser, Mister Fraser.”

Gently Murtagh pushed Claire ahead, and she lifted her skirts, careful of the patches of mud.

–

“He was arrested four days ago?” Sir Fletcher squinted at the sheaf of papers scattered across his desk, before fishing in his breast pocket and finding a beautiful pair of gold-rimmed spectacles.

“Yes, very early in the morning of the eleventh of August.” Claire smoothed her hands on her dress – her wedding dress, the dress Jamie had told her matched the color of her eyes when he had helped her out of it, that magical first faraway night in the cottage. Softly she reached to the underside of her wrist – confirming that Jamie’s lion-tooth knife was snug in the bit of linen she had wrapped like a bandage right at the edge of her long sleeve.

“Let’s see…ah. Here is the report.”

Sir Fletcher’s spectacles magnified his eyes to almost double their natural size; she would have laughed, had her heart held even the slightest amount of joy.

“You’re correct…here he is, James Alexander Kuntze Fraser, aged twenty-three. The charge sheet reads subversion…looks like your husband was illegally trespassing on a farmer’s land and was witnessed to be facilitating the escape of a slave.”

Claire pressed the back of Murtagh’s hand, willing him to be silent.

“He was arrested along with my father-in-law, Brian Fraser. But Brian was returned to us a few days ago.”

“That’s what it says here…that the elder Mister Fraser was released due to lack of evidence. And James is being held…this can’t be right. He’s being held at the end of the cell block. That’s wholly inappropriate.”

“What do ye mean, inappropriate?” Murtagh seethed.

Sir Fletcher’s magnified eyes comically blinked as he looked across his desk at Murtagh. “It’s an inappropriate location for a prisoner arrested for this type of crime. Prisoners kept at the end of the cell block are those set for execution – that’s where the gallows are.”

“And what would be the proper punishment for this crime?” Claire worried her wedding ring with her thumb, resting her other hand on the baby.

“Flogging, usually. Fifty lashes. But all cases go before a magistrate, who hears the evidence, considers the man’s defense, rules on the man’s guilt or innocence, and only then decides the appropriate punishment.” Sir Fletcher sat back in his chair and removed his spectacles, rubbing suddenly tired eyes. “We may be far from London, Mistress Fraser – but I assure you, here we follow both the letter and the spirit of the law.”

“I appreciate your assurances, sir. Has my husband gone before the magistrate yet?”

“He has not – but he will in five days time.”

“And if his guilt is determined – when will his punishment be delivered?”

Sir Fletcher spread one hand on the thick, dark wood of his desk. Absently Claire observed that his pinky ring bore a large fleur-de-lis.

“Justice waits for no man, madam – it is usually immediate.”

Claire took a deep breath. “I understand that this is entirely unorthodox, Sir Fletcher – but I would like to see my husband.”

The solder waited a long time before answering. Tense silence suffused the room; idly, Claire thought that the Dutch had constructed the fort magnificently well, as she could hear no sound from neighboring rooms or even from outside on the parade ground.

“Madam, I can assure you that I’ll see to your husband’s welfare myself. I will promptly move him to a different area of the prison.”

“With respect,” Murtagh piped up, voice hoarse with feeling. “We both want to see him. No’ that we dinna trust ye – it’s the other soldiers here we dinna trust.”

“And with respect,” Sir Fletcher replied, “I do not believe that you are fit to walk about the prison in your delicate condition, Mistress Fraser. I am happy to take Mister Fraser – ”

“I am assuredly _not_ delicate, meek or obedient,” Claire interrupted, heedless of her manners. “I came here to see my husband. I will not leave this fort until I have done so.”

Sir Fletcher sighed, then rose, gesturing toward the door of his office. “Follow me.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/178040305898/uitlander)

**Chapter 26**

**Freedom**

**Monday, August 14, 1826**

* * *

                                                                                  

* * *

Years later, when Claire looked back on her visit to the fort, she couldn’t remember any specific part of the long journey to the end of the cell block. Murtagh was there, of course, to help fill in the details. Mostly she remembered the scents (dampness, moldy hay, stale urine), the sounds (men coughing, men shouting, rats skittering), the lack of proper light that resulted in an uneasy half-darkness in the cells.

But she could – and would always – remember Jamie.

Face darkened with dirt and dried blood, hair dulled with sweat and grime. Clutching his left hand protectively against his chest. Huddled in the corner of a dark, dank, filthy cell.

“Fraser?” Sir Fletcher squinted through the bars.

“What do you want?” Jamie sighed. “Leave me be.”

“Jamie.” Why did her voice sound so strong? “Jamie. It’s me – Claire.”

A rustle – then Jamie groaned as he stood upright, staggering toward the bars.

“C-Claire?” His right hand gripped the bars, his left hand still curled against his filthy shirt. Greedily Claire reached through the bars and twined her fingers through his. Immediately his thumb found and circled her wedding ring.

“Claire?” His voice rough, his hand clammy. “Why are you here?”

“I had to see you.” She couldn’t quite find his eyes in the half-light of the cell block; she didn’t want him to see her welling tears.

“You must leave,” he rasped. “Now. It’s not safe for you here.”

“I’m trying to get you out of here.”

“What do you mean?”

Sir Fletcher cleared his throat. “There seems to have been a mistake – you’re to be moved to a different area of the prison. Your wife brought it to my attention.”

Then he stepped forward, keys clanging in the long hallway. Almost as if on cue, the prisoners locked in the adjoining cells murmured – then approached the bars like sleepwalkers, one by one.

Sir Fletcher opened the door to Jamie’s cell and stepped in to grab Jamie by the arm. Blocked by Sir Fletcher’s body, Claire couldn’t see what caused the soldier to gasp.

“Mister Fraser – whatever happened to your hand?”

“You can ask Captain Randall,” Jamie growled, “the next time you see him.”

Murtagh tried to keep Claire back – but she darted around Sir Fletcher’s scarlet coat to see for herself.

Her heart sank.

Jamie’s left hand had been smashed, or crushed – the fingers lay curled all against each other at unnatural angles, one nail was missing, and the entire hand was swollen and black with old and new blood.

Instantly at his side, Claire cradled her husband’s hand – feeling the tension so strong in his body.

“Did Randall do this to you?” she demanded.

Finally she could see his eyes – tired, but strong. Locked with hers.

“Captain Jonathan Randall held my hand under his wagon and ordered the soldier driving the wagon to move forward.” Jamie’s voice echoed off the damp stones in the cell – confident. Strong. True. “My hand was crushed. As a citizen of the Crown, I wish to lodge a formal complaint.”

Sir Fletcher, to his credit, gaped.

Claire squeezed Jamie’s right hand, swiftly bringing it to rest on her belly – showing him that she and the _bokkie_ were safe, infusing her – their – strength into him.

“Did you hear him, Sir Fletcher?” Still holding Jamie’s hand, Claire turned to face the officer straight on. “It is unacceptable that this awful event occurred four days ago and not one word has made its way from the cells to your office. Do you know that our family has ties to the Governor?”

“We do indeed.” Now Murtagh stepped around Sir Fletcher as well, resting one hand on Jamie and the other on Claire. “Ye ken what that means, aye? If we lodge a complaint wi’ him, then it canna be ignored. It will go all the way back to London.”

“Yes,” Jamie chimed in. “Won’t that go on _your_ permanent record, Sir Fletcher?”

“You know what the right decision is,” Claire added. “Immediately release my husband into our care. He needs medical attention – you can see that yourself. We promise to bring him back for his appointment with the magistrate.”

A prisoner in the cell directly to the left of Sir Fletcher banged on his bars. “Let ‘im out, mate! ‘E’s a good man.”

“Aye,” another piped up, somewhere beside Claire. “He stood up to that mad bastard Randall. Don’t tell me ye don’t know what that bugger is capable of.”

Sir Fletcher straightened, then hustled Jamie – and by extension, Claire and Murtagh – down the corridor, turning left, pushing through a door – and then out into the blinding mid-day sun.

Jamie blinked, like the newborn foal Claire had helped him deliver a few weeks before. He was even filthier than she had thought – but he was whole. Standing on his own two legs. Gripping her hand so tight.

Sir Fletcher raised his chin, mopped the sweat dripping from his brow. “Go.” His voice was low, angry. “Go away from here. Go back to your farm. I’ll figure out what to tell the Captain when he returns. But go. Be back in five days.”

“Thank you, Sir Fletcher.” Claire bowed in the soldier’s direction, but Murtagh was already pushing her and Jamie toward the fort’s entry gate.

She didn’t look back.

Five minutes later Murtagh helped her into the wagon that Rupert and Angus had been minding, sitting under the shade of an acacia tree across the street from the fort. Then Murtagh and his sons helped Jamie climb in, beside his wife. Rupert slapped the reins on the horses’ backs, easing them into a quick trot through the Cape Town’s quiet streets.

In the back of the wagon, Jamie and Claire held each other close. He stole kisses, she used her handkerchief to mop the dirt and dried blood from his brow and cheeks and chin. Stunned with love and admiration for each other.

“You saved me,” he whispered.

“It’s not over yet,” she replied.

“It doesn’t matter. You saved me. All on your own.” With his good hand he wiped her tears away; she had wrapped his injured hand in Angus’ shirt, the boy preferring to go cold during the ride back so that Jamie’s hand could be protected.

“I had help.”

“You saved me,” Jamie repeated. “You did it on your own. I owe you my life. You are so, so brave, _Nebhongo_. How can I ever repay you?”

She kissed the tip of his nose. “You’ve given me this most amazing life. That’s all I will ever need. All that _we_ will ever need.”

He darted in for a long, long kiss.

For a moment the midday sun hid behind a thick cloud – but then returned, blazing bright and joyous as the wagon rumbled up the path to their farm, to their future.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/178278654075/uitlander)

**Chapter 27**

**Recovery**

**Thursday, August 18, 1826**

* * *

                                                                             

* * *

“I’ve got it, Claire – please sit. You’ve already done so much.”

Claire raised her eyebrows but acquiesced, sinking to rest on the bench nestled on one end of the back porch, the lion-tooth knife in her pocket digging into the side of her thigh. Eyes full of worry as she watched Jamie balance their dinner plates with his good hand – the injured one, wrapped tightly in bandages, holding the dishes steady as he carefully padded through the back door and into the kitchen.

She stretched out her legs and sighed, hands running over the now-perceptible swell of her belly.

Four long days since Jamie’s return to Noord Toring.

Four nights since she had carefully repaired the damaged bones and tendons in his crushed hand, Jamie dead asleep with a mixture of laudanum and whisky, Elin at her elbow and passing scalpels and sutures and raw whisky to cleanse the wounds, Uncle Lamb and Jan holding down Jamie’s body as Brian and Murtagh guarded the front door, muskets in hand.

Three days since Jamie, still groggy but alert, had gone over his case front to back with Uncle Lamb, preparing his defense for the hearing that was still scheduled for Friday morning. Diligently reviewing the pages and pages Lamb had prepared in his beautiful penmanship, laying out Jamie’s case – and detailing the litany of misdeeds committed by one Captain Jonathan Wolverton Randall.

The six Catholic prisoners who had died under mysterious circumstances while he commanded a garrison at Fort William, in the Scottish Highlands. The transcript of the disciplinary hearing where the garrison doctor had testified that the men all displayed pre-mortem signs of sodomy, and that their deaths, while at first glance accidents or suicides, were entirely avoidable. A copy of the order effectively banishing Randall to command the fort at the backwater down in the Cape; a copy of the petition of complaint to the House of Lords in Westminster, signed by a Duke of Sandringham to effectively expunge the Captain’s record and make him fit for command once more.

“But who is this Duke, and why is he so powerful?” Jamie had frowned as he sat straight against the headboard of his and Claire’s bed, injured hand lying on his lap, his good hand wound tightly around Claire’s shoulders.

Lamb had sighed and removed his spectacles. “From what I’ve learned – he is pompous, perpetually in debt, and an all-around rake.”

Claire had shifted so that Jamie’s good hand rested on the baby. “But why would he want to protect Randall?”

Now Lamb had pinched his eyes shut. “It can’t be proven, but it’s believed that Randall once did this Duke a very large, unspecified favor. There are also rumors that they are lovers.”

At the foot of the bed, Elin had gasped.

“Just rumors, mind you. Nothing can be proven. But Sandringham went to Cambridge with a man high up in the Foreign Office, in London. He was able to pull the appropriate strings for Captain Randall.”

“A damn good thing Claire came to her senses and didna marry one of the brothers,” Murtagh had murmured from his perch in the window, watching the front of the house.

The crux of Jamie’s defense was not that he was innocent of breaking the colony’s law against aiding slaves – his guilt in breaking that law could be proven beyond the shadow of a doubt. Rather, Jamie deserved his freedom due to the unjust punishment he had received – on top of the grave bodily injury he had suffered – at the hands of a fundamentally unfit and cruelly negligent officer, whose conduct was wholly unbecoming of his station. And who, it could quite successfully be argued, should never have been granted such a command in the first place.

Three days they had rehearsed what Jamie would say – how Lamb would represent him, at the hearing – and how Jamie and Claire would need to act when Randall entered the room.

“You know it will be all right, Claire?”

Jamie had returned from the kitchen to sink against her on the bench, his good hand automatically finding hers, thumb and forefinger tracing her wedding ring.

“I don’t want to lose you again,” she whispered. “Or to see you come to any more harm. I know we are on the right side, but I can’t help but fear that it won’t be enough. That what Uncle Lamb will say will be too much of a sensation for the magistrate.”

He turned to kiss her temple. “With Lamb’s authority, and my hand – it should be enough. The Fraser name is very respected.”

“If – if they were to flog you tomorrow…” she swallowed. “I will be there. Right there, with you. And I will tend you, right away. I’ll bring my medical box just in case.”

“No.” His voice had a sharp edge to it – and he turned now to face her directly. She couldn’t help but meet his gaze – her eyes terrified, his eyes burning.

“No,” he repeated. “It won’t happen. I would _never_ allow that to happen to me – and I would _never_ allow you to be a part of that. I hope to – ”

“JAMIE!”

Within half a breath, Jamie jumped to his feet, blocking the path between Claire and the kitchen door.

“JAMIE!” It was Janna – Janna racing from the kitchen.

Oh Christ.

“A carriage is coming,” she panted. “Rupert and Angus saw it up in the tower, and Angus just barged into the sitting room to tell us.”

In a heartbeat Claire was on her feet, hand clutched tightly in Jamie’s as he pulled her into the house.

“DA!”

And somehow Brian was there – Elin, too – meeting them in the hallway, pushing them up the stairs.

“…Exactly as we had planned. You’ll be in the master bedroom because it locks. Claire will be safe.”

Jamie nodded as he followed his mother up to the landing, then down the hall to the Laird’s Room – the room that, God willing, he and Claire would occupy one day.

Elin rustled the deep pockets of her skirt and produced an ancient iron key. “Ready?”

Claire couldn’t speak, but followed Jamie inside; Elin handed her son the key, kissed his cheek, and shut the door. Jamie bolted the door and then locked it from the inside, just as the carriage ground to a halt outside.

Feeling as if she was not in control of her own body, Claire floated toward the big bay window and peered through the lace curtain.

The handsome black carriage was escorted by four redcoated soldiers. A man in deep navy livery darted from his seat at the back of the carriage to the dirt of the drive, opening the door to reveal –

“It’s John Grey,” Claire exclaimed. “Oh, thank God.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [originally posted on tumblr](https://gotham-ruaidh.tumblr.com/post/178509691982/uitlander)

**Chapter 28**

**Exhale**

**Friday, August 19, 1826**

* * *

                                                                          

* * *

John Grey wiped his suddenly perspiring brow, pulling at his collar, feeling the sweat drip behind his ears.

“I know you’ve only been here for a few years, my boy – but surely you’d have adapted to the native style of dress by now?”

Grey smiled wistfully, shaking his head and shifting down the bench closer to Lamb, already cooler in the shade of Noord Toring’s majestic front porch. “Protocol. And old habits die hard…I worked quite hard to get this post, Lamb. You know how it is.”

Lamb set down his mug of rooibos tea – Janna’s specialty, of which he partook multiple times throughout the day. “You certainly did. As demonstrated by your most eloquent petition of complaint.”

John shrugged. “It’s the very least I could do – not just for the Frasers, of course – but for you. For the sake of the brotherhood. And to see justice done. You know that I couldn’t have written it without the extensive due diligence you furnished – let alone presented it to the magistrate.”

Lamb waved his hand dismissively. “I’m always prepared, for any circumstance – you know that. You should remember that from your rhetoric classes.”

“Yes, yes, of course. I had more than enough for the complaint, based on Randall’s recent actions alone.” John’s fine features grimaced. “To think that someone of…someone that _twisted_ could somehow be wearing His Majesty’s uniform, and that he would act so _cruelly_ in a manner so out of bounds…I’m just glad that nobody from the family had to be there for the hearing. They’ve already withstood so much in the past few days.” He sighed, but then his mood brightened. “Though it _was_ an honor to have you there with me, Lamb.”

“Come now, John.” Lamb waved away the praise. “I may be the newcomer here, but surely you’ve heard of the Frasers’ dispute with the Groots. It’s an open secret that those bastards arranged the whole thing – the key question is, what was in it for Randall had the plan succeeded?”

Grey shrugged. “More power and influence, I suppose. Perhaps he wanted an estate to himself. Or perhaps it was his mad way to avenge Claire’s rejection of his brothers – though surely I trust that Frank Randall would never have made such a fuss.”

Lamb nodded slowly. “All are plausible. But this was personal – petty. You must know that Jamie had been arrested by Jack Randall before.”

“I did – I personally performed a cursory background review on the family before Claire brought Jamie and Elin and Brian to meet with me a few months ago. I read the report Randall wrote summarizing why he flogged Jamie. Completely unjustified, in my opinion. Most excellent information to have at my fingertips today.” Now his fine lips tilted into a smile at his mentor. “It seems that your due diligence habits may have rubbed off a bit on me.”

Lamb didn’t speak for a long moment, smiling as he watched Rupert, Angus, and Young Jamie cavort beneath the trees, Greet perched on Rupert’s shoulders, shrieking happily.

“You know that we will forever be in your debt for what you did for Jamie,” he finally said, voice very soft.

“Nonsense. The time he served at the fort – and his terrible injury – are sentence enough. And the law he broke is a foolish one, anyway. You know that there is a strident abolitionist movement at home – even in the United States, believe it or not. I can’t change the law, but I can certainly instruct our men to look the other way.”

Lamb turned to face John, now – his blue eyes suddenly intent.

“Jamie’s pardon, yes – of course we appreciate it. But for you to already have Randall in irons, set to be on a ship back to England next week…”He swallowed, unexpected emotion suddenly cresting within him.

Without hesitation, John clasped Lamb’s thin shoulder. “It’s truly my pleasure. Not just something I do out of affection for our years together – or for the Frasers and their immeasurable contributions to the colony – or for Jamie Fraser as a good, honest man. It’s for the brotherhood, at the end of the day. For the integrity of our fraternity, and our network. To put men like him, who abuse that confidence, in the pit that they deserve – and to make it safer for men like us, to continue living our lives and playing our important roles in society. That’s why I did it. That’s why I would do it again.”

Lamb blinked away tears. “You’re a fine, fine man, John Grey. Hector would be so proud.”

Now it was John’s turn to wipe moisture from his eyes. “He would be, wouldn’t he?”

–

“I still can’t believe that His Lordship says he’ll be comfortable enough in the spare bedroom tonight!” Suzette pushed the bowl full of potato peels further down the counter, deftly swapping it out for an empty bowl, bent to her work. “And for him to be content just to eat supper with us, too!”

“He’s not the King,” Elin replied gently, carefully measuring and chopping dried herbs. “He’s just a man. Who happens to have an important job.”

“And who has graciously invested the time to get to know us over the past few months.” Janna ground a handful of dried rooibos into the powder used to concoct her tea, careful of Cato sleeping against her chest.

At Elin’s elbow, Mistress Crook neatly folded golden crust around the three mutton pies that would be their early but hearty supper. “He’s the most important person I’ve ever cooked for. Beg pardon, Elin – including your father, God rest his soul.”

“It’s all right,” Elin smiled, wiping her sweaty forehead on the corner of her apron. “This _is_ a special occasion. We have much to celebrate.” Setting aside her herbs, she took the two full bowls of potato peelings and set out for the door.

Her grandfather had built the pigsty exactly twenty paces from the kitchen door. Among her first memories as a small girl was walking beside her grandmother – who never learned a word of English – carefully bearing a bowl of kitchen scraps to feed the pigs. The same walk she had made with her own children, hundreds of times – and had even had with her grandchildren Jamie, Greet, and soon –

“Jamie? Claire?”

Her son and daughter-in-law turned to greet her, smiling.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you, but – ”

“But why are we here with the pigs?” Jamie laughed. “Angus told us that the white sow birthed another litter last night.”

“ _Again?_ ” Elin gaped. “But the last litter was just four months ago! The average gestation is – ”

“Three months, three weeks, and three days,” Claire grinned. “You’ll make me a farmer yet.”

Elin shook her head, carefully tipping the potato peelings into the trough. “That’s true enough. You’re the first to marry into this family for a long time without having grown up on a farm.”

Claire took one of the empty bowls from Elin. “I’m a quick study.”

“So I’ve noticed.” Elin bent to kiss the top of Jamie’s head, careful to not upset his balance as he crouched against the side of the pen.

“Thanks, Mama. I promised Da I’d try my best to count the piglets.”

She rolled her eyes. “Good luck. Has he told you that this sow is possibly the most fertile creature on earth?”

Claire laughed. “He has. And also that she’s fiercely protective of her offspring. Like the other women on this farm.”

Elin flushed, so pleased. “That she is.”

–

 _The energy at the house has finally been restored_ , Sorrel reported as he padded into the clump of rooibos bushes where the pride had settled for the night.

_Finally_ , Black yawned, gnawing at one of the last springbok bones from the morning’s hunt. _I know it’s been upsetting you and Protea. Not the best when she’s to bear your cubs so soon_.

Sorrel nudged at the pile of bones, cracking a rib with his teeth to get at the delicious marrow. _The Red One and his mate, the White Lady – they’re to have a cub soon. I saw her._

 _What were you doing so close to the house?_ Protea growled softly from the next bush, where she rested beside Clivia, the mother to Black’s latest litter of cubs. _And in the daylight, too!_

 _Hush_ , Sorrel soothed, his tongue lapping at the marrow. _I was quiet and careful. I smelled a pile of sheep bones near the house – I wanted to bring one to you, to strengthen you. And while I watched, they came out of the house._

 _The Red One and the White Lady?_ Black clarified.

_Yes. With some others in the family – and an old man I did not recognize. He wore those strange circles on his nose._

_Maybe that’s another strange form of decoration,_ Clivia suggested, wincing as her five tiny yet healthy cubs nursed greedily. _Did he wear red?_

 _No. They – they were all very happy._ Sorrel cracked open another discarded rib bone. _Would you like some, Protea? It is good for the cubs._

 _Please_ , she smiled, yawning. _I wonder – do you think the Red Man cares for the White Lady like you now care for me?_

Black’s snort lifted a small cloud of dust. He shook his mane in irritation. _What do you care?_

Gently Sorrel set two rib bones before Protea and cracked them open with his powerful jaws. _I care. For when the family is content, they do not hunt us. So we will be content_.

Protea licked Sorrel’s face in thanks. Clivia gave a long look at Black, before gently nudging her cubs.

The alpha male sighed. Sorrel was right, of course. Wise, and cautious. He would protect the pride well, when it became his time to lead.

But for now, Black rose, walked to Clivia’s bush, and settled beside her, the cubs safe between them already falling asleep, dreaming of mountains and birds and drowning sunshine, here at the bottom of the world.

##  **FIN.**


End file.
